


Third Dimension of the Heart

by sinisterbug



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everybody Lives, Eventual Smut, M/M, Rating will change, Slow Burn, bamf!Dain, emotional constipation from everyone except Dain, not a hate!Dain fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinisterbug/pseuds/sinisterbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beta and collaborator: Amity</p><p>It wasn't exactly unreasonable for Bilbo to assume that his life couldn't possibly get any more adventurous or complicated. He'd traveled across Middle Earth, fought all manner of evil creatures, escaped an elvish prison, helped reclaim a mountain, and fought in a war. Prepared to settle down and get to the task of helping rebuild Erebor, the hobbit's life is quite unexpectedly turned upside down once more when he becomes the center of attention of the two most powerful dwarves in the region - Dáin II Ironfoot, and Thorin II Oakenshield himself. With an elf king to keep happy in the mix, a mountain of dwarrow to care for, and his own sanity to keep intact, Bilbo endeavors to maintain his dignity and the deed to Bag End, all while courting two dwarves at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Concerning Mountain-Dwelling Hobbits

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by determamfidd's breathtaking fic, Sansukh. That story has taught me so much about the Tolkien universe. 
> 
> Keep an eye out for tosquinha's art scattered throughout the story. 
> 
> Last, this is not a bad!Dain fic. If Dain is not your cuppa, and you'd rather not see him portrayed in a positive light, then... I don't know what's wrong with you frankly.

It was not as difficult to track the seasons as he imagined it might be, living in a mountain. Frequent travel back and forth from Laketown, Mirkwood and Dale made it so that Bilbo was getting much more of the outdoors than he ever did back in Bag End. Certainly not as much as on their quest, but he did not suffer from a lack of fresh air or sunlight. Besides, this mountain had _windows_. Not quite windows as one might recognize them, but that is what they were. Great long, narrow air vents that stretched some unfathomable length into to the side of the mountain, letting air circulate and sunlight come through during the right time of day. Bilbo knew enough of the perimeter of the mountain now that he could chase the sunlight as the day cycled on, traveling from one room to another, anticipating the warm golden beams that would inevitably break through at the right hour.

 

And if it was darkness that suited him, he scarcely found it available. Every hallway, doorway, room and passage was alight - either by torch or strange, beautiful glowing salt stones the let off a warm ambience.

 

Bilbo had no interest in dark places, as it was, so this abundance of light was satisfactory to him.

 

Noticing the fresh air from the vents was beginning to get downright chilly in the mornings, it was no surprise to Bilbo when he stepped out on to the battlements and was greeted by a nod from the guardsmen and crisp, cool autumn air for the first time this season. It had not been a full year since the Battle of the Five Armies not quite a full year since... everything. He inhaled enthusiastically, letting the sharp smell of the foliage fill his senses and he closed his eyes for a moment then exhaling slowly and letting his shoulders fall slightly.

 

Only lately could one look at the dwarves of line of Durin and not suspect the damage the battle had wrought. The boys had recovered quickly with the healing assistance of Mirkwood’s elves, but Thorin had disallowed anyone but Oin from seeing to his own recovery; thus, it had been much slower. Far be it from Bilbo to cast dispersion on Oin's skill as a healer, and he had expected nothing different from the king.

 

The king.

 

Thorin Oakenshield, who was now King Under the Mountain. King Thorin, who had only in the last month found himself able to walk without the assistance of a cane. King Thorin Under the _Sodding_ Mountain, working all hours of the day until the dark circles under his eyes threatened to swallow his entire face. Thorin Oakenshield, with whom he’d barely spoken a personal word to since-

 

Bilbo's eyes snapped open in annoyance and he huffed at no one in particular. He patted at his jacket, searching for his pipe; and when he found it he lit it quickly, hoping that it would settle his temper before it got out of hand like it always seemed to do these days. Gandalf - dear, generous Gandalf - had surprised Bilbo on his birthday just a month ago with a small barrel weighing several pounds and containing beautiful, luxurious Longbottom leaf. He took a deep drag and held the smoke in his lungs, letting it burn for a few seconds before letting it out in several perfectly round smoke rings.

 

He was only given a few more moments of his much longed for privacy before he heard the steady strike of iron on marble he'd begun to dread over the last few months. _Thud, clink. Thud, clink_ , always followed by a conversation that left Bilbo feeling bewildered. Dáin Ironfoot was another type of dwarf entirely apart from those he had met and traveled with so far. One could certainly make a list of typical dwarven traits and put a check next to each of them for Thorin’s cousin - loud, opinionated, more stubborn than the deepest roots of the oldest tree in the Shire. Surprisingly, hostile was not on that list, and it was this aspect (or rather _lack_ of it) in  Dáin’s personality that Bilbo found so perplexing.

 

It had taken Bilbo striking down Thorin’s enemy to earn even the smallest measure of respect and trust from him. And the hobbit wasn’t about to give the rest of the company too much credit, except for maybe Bofur. The culmination of his experiences and wisdom passed to him by the more talkative members of the company taught Bilbo that dwarves were not particularly open people, and their trust was hard won. Dáin had not ever bothered to question Bilbo’s presence (at least not to his face), even before he understood the scope of Bilbo’s involvement in reclaiming Erebor.

 

Bilbo could hardly put a finger on why he’d been spared another round of scrutiny; perhaps Dáin trusted Thorin’s judgement that much. Perhaps when Bilbo had not been looking, the rest of the company had vouched for him. Of one thing he was sure - it was _not_ because he had escaped  Dáin’s notice.

 

"Good morning, Bilbo!"  That boisterous Iron Hills accent was enough to send a couple birds flying off the ledge in fright.

 

 _Bilbo_.  Dáin had called Bilbo by his given name from the first day he met him in Thorin’s tent after the battle. Bilbo hadn’t noticed it at the time - he didn’t notice anything in those days but the ragged rise and fall of Thorin’s chest as he struggled to breathe. He only noticed it after Dain had already been using his first name to address the hobbit as if it were completely natural. At that point, he didn’t care to confront the issue, as it would likely keep Dain’s strange attention on him longer than he would like.

 

And his attention seemed strange to Bilbo indeed. He approached Bilbo as if the hobbit were a skittish animal taken captive. He observed Bilbo with a curiously bemused expression most of the time, and he often seemed surprised at anything Bilbo did or said. Which was just absurd, honestly. Being a very respectable hobbit (despite, well, all the evidence to the contrary), Bilbo was probably the most predictable creature residing in the entire mountain. He had quickly learned to err on the side of caution and not give Dáin any reason to pay him particular attention, but the dwarf did anyway. Bilbo deferred, demured, excused himself, and in all other ways avoided contact in any form with the Lord of the Iron Hills. _Still_ Bilbo found himself unexpectedly joined by  Dáin in the library or the observatory, being engaged in strange conversations with Thorin’s cousin at least once a day. It would seem that some time ago Dáin had figured out Bilbo’s sun-chasing routine and would regularly be waiting for Bilbo in the rooms that Bilbo was headed to.

 

The exasperated hobbit tried not to sigh too deeply and continued looking out over the battlements.

 

“Good morning, Your Lordship.”

 

Bilbo heard Dáin make a sound of irritation at being addressed thusly. “Nothin’ of what I’ve learned of you since I came to this damned mountain has revealed to me the proper motivation that will persuade you to use my name.”

 

Bilbo bounced on the heels of his feet once and gave a reluctant smile. If this were any other person, he would have said something further to encourage small talk, but he did not want to encourage Dáin, so he just hummed said nothing further.

 

Dáin was a very blunt speaker but he was also perhaps the second dwarf Bilbo ever known who seemed to have his brain wrapped around the concept of subtlety. The first had been Balin; but Dáin far outstripped Balin in the art of it.

 

Bilbo would never forget one of the first council meetings where Dáin had managed to insult Thorin without him noticing.

 

Thorin finally declared a short recess after several hours of intense discussion. Most of the council members stood up to stretch or otherwise make themselves comfortable after sitting in one fashion for so long. Dáin had been chatting with Fili about their favorite pastimes when Fili told Dáin about a card game Bilbo had introduced him to on the road.

 

“Perhaps I can convince Bilbo to teach you tonight and we can have a game with amad and Kili. You’d enjoy it cousin, I’m sure.”

 

“I’m rubbish at such games. I never could tell a king from a knave!”* He laughed uproariously at his own joke, slapping a mystified Fili on the back.

 

Bilbo had to assume he was the only other person present to get the joke, as no one else paid the exchange any mind.

 

“Winterfilth* is upon us,” Dáin filled in the blank space for him, as he usually did when the hobbit applied this tactic. “Winter proper will be here sooner than we can fathom, and Erebor is not ready. Come spring me and mine will start back to the Iron Hills, sooner than Erebor will be ready to let us go.”

 

Damnable dwarf. Of course he would pick a topic that was actually important to Bilbo. Dáin never had any faith that Thorin could retake the mountain, and he’d demonstrated this by refusing to aid  the quest. The Lord of the Iron Hills had since made it clear that despite Thorin’s success at the impossible, he had little faith that Thorin could build the infrastructure necessary for this ancient kingdom without the presence of him and his soldiers.

 

“By then the caravans from Ered Luin will have been arriving for some time,” Bilbo noted, not willing to be drawn into Dáin’s usual pessimism.

 

“Aye, and you’ll not find many warriors or soldiers among them.”

 

“We didn’t need many warriors or soldiers to take the mountain in the first place,” Bilbo reminded Dáin, keeping his tone even. This was precisely the type of conversation Bilbo did not want to be drawn in to. Not with Dáin.

 

“But you’ll need ‘em to keep it.”

 

 

Dáin closed the remaining distance between them and came to stand directly beside Bilbo, looking out over the battlements. Even in the chilly autumn air, Bilbo could feel the heat rolling off the lordly dwarf standing next to him, much like it rolled off of most dwarves. He couldn’t stand to host more than three of them at a time in his rooms, or else he felt too stifled. It was less of an issue if they were outdoors with the sky open before them, but inside the mountain it sometimes had Bilbo removing his scarf and pulling at the neck of his tunic.

 

He didn’t spend much time around Thorin these days, but the dwarf was on his mind all the more for it. So much so that it was distracting him from paying full attention to his conversation with Dáin.

 

“-no matter what the topic, Bilbo.”

 

“I’m sorry? My mind was far away for a moment,” Bilbo apologized reflexively.

 

His ingrained sense of manners caused him to turn and look at Dáin, forgetting their proximity. If he’d been more on his toes he would have just pretended to hear whatever Dáin had said and nodded. Now there was less distance between them than there ever had been. Dáin looked down at him, his auburn and gold beard glinting in the sunrise. His blue eyes - Durin eyes, _Thorin’s_ eyes - narrowed in scrutiny and he let out a soft huff of irritation.

 

Bilbo could see much of Thorin in Dáin, and from across the distance of the council’s table, Bilbo had often observed what of Dáin was in Thorin. Most of the difference between them lay in the bearing. Dáin was broader. Thorin, more handsome, if a hobbit’s opinion on these matters was anything to go by.

 

“I said I will always value your insight, no matter the topic. The wisdom and counsel you have given Thorin, not just since reclaimin’ Erebor, but from accounts that I have heard since you joined the quest-”

 

“Er, thank you, Your Lordship, but I haven’t done much,” Bilbo interrupted abruptly. Before Dáin could disagree, he went on somewhat frantically, waving his pipe about. “While the success of everyone else in our company was due to their own hard earned skill or knowledge, my own was but a collection of mishaps and luck. _Thorin_ may make his own luck, but I take mine as it falls, and it has landed me here, by no greatness of skill or mind of my own.” Bilbo did not believe this, even with the advantage the ring gave him,  but he wasn’t about to accept  Dáin’s flattery. “If you will excuse me, I must prepare my notes for the council meeting. Good morning.”

 

Bilbo stepped back with no care for grace and almost managed to stuff his still lit pipe into the inner pocket of his jacket. Without another word he strode past Dáin, not stopping to see the displeasure on the dwarf’s face. Dáin could survive being 'Good morning-ed’ by Belladonna Took’s son.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo moved around his rooms with ease, trying to shed the burden of the day’s work as he puttered around the kitchen preparing a proper tea. He could not have asked for better accommodations, truly. After much of the emergency need for healing and housing had been met, some  time and effort had been spared from the reconstruction to give Bilbo a proper bedroom, a private bathroom, a sitting room and a small kitchen (as did each member of the company, save for the brothers Ri - they opted to share a residence, as did Bifur and Bofur). The furnishings had been reappropriated from another residence that, although it had managed to escape Smaug’s wrath, had fallen into disrepair. Bilbo could tell they were of the finest quality. The bed, desk and chest were carved from a sumptuous dark wood and were covered in delicate and complex engravings. Bilbo was always mindful that these possessions had once belonged to another family whose fate was not difficult to guess. He hadn’t bothered to ask, but he treated these furnishings as he would treat his own mother’s glory box or his father’s arm chair. If he were being very optimistic, he imagined that someday a family might return to claim them.

 

His bathroom was only a bit more plain, as they’d had to carve it out of the mountain in order to install the plumbing. Apparently his apartments used to be something close to a storage room, so the space for the kitchen and the bathroom had needed extensive work. There were no embellishments added to the newly exposed stone, but the rock itself was a pleasing shade of cream yellow that Bilbo found soothing while he soaked in a hot bath at the end of the day. Just to have access to a kitchen seemed like such an indulgence after the journey, but to have one in his apartments was more than Bilbo could have expected or asked for. It was a source of gratitude and humility he would dip into if he were ever feeling particularly petulant about something. The dwarves who had worked on the project were jovial and, in their own words, pleased to do the work. The hobbit had no reckoning of what to expect from the soldiers of the Iron Hills, but aside from the usual trials Bilbo had resigned himself to when dealing with dwarves, they had demonstrated tireless compassion and dedication to aiding Thorin Oakenshield and company. Less so, perhaps, to the men of Dale, but that was to be expected.

 

Bilbo had shared none these things with Thorin, save to express his gratitude. Thorin, in response, muttered that of course he would be afforded his own residence and that it was no matter.

 

Just as he was settling himself down for a cup of his favorite tea (Bergamot, much to everyone’s surprise, folks always assumed it was chamomile) and some freshly baked seed cakes after a long day spent cataloguing ancient manuscripts in Ori’s company, there was a knock on his door. “Confound it all! Will I never rid myself of unexpected visitors?” he grumbled as he abandoned his chair to open the door. Thorin stood waiting on the other side. He was reminded of their first meeting in Bag End, the smell of his tea and cakes wafting through his apartment making the moment that much much nostalgic.

 

Bilbo’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Thorin raised an eyebrow in question.

 

"Your Majes-” Bilbo cut himself off. He was perfectly aware of Thorin’s distaste for titles in private company. “Oh for Eru’s sake come in." Sometimes it was so much _work_ with dwarves.

 

Thorin started to roll his eyes and then seemed to think better of it, which was good, Bilbo thought. In 195 years apparently neither Thrain, nor his wife, nor Balin had managed to get Thorin to shake the habit entirely. But it was gratifying for the hobbit to see the dwarf trying, as it was likely to mean he was practicing it in front of other polite company - namely Bard, recently appointed king of Dale.

 

"Master Baggins, I trust you are doing well this evening," Thorin said, stepping into Bilbo's apartments. He did a visual sweep of the sitting room, circling in on the cozy little tea setting and reminding the hobbit strongly of his own personal experience with being weighed and measured by the king upon their first meeting. Bilbo chuckled, feeling a bit sorry for his seed cakes at this point.

 

"Yes, well enough. Would you like some tea?” Bilbo quickly ran a hand through his curls as he shut the door behind him. He had no idea what he looked like just now. Exhausted and grumpy, probably. “What brings you to my little corner of Erebor?"

 

Thorin stopped short of sitting down. "Corner? If you were not content with the location-"

 

Bilbo flapped his hand and took a seat, shooting Thorin an exasperated look. "Of course not. After all, a corner is only a vertex - the place where two lines meet. Even if it were a corner, which it is not, there would be no reason to be out of sorts about it. Hobbit culture finds no particular shame in corners, unless you've been sent to one as a fauntling to be punished. As it is, I've made it plain how pleased and grateful I am for my quarters. Now sit."

 

He inwardly berated himself for blathering on. It was only that he had not had the opportunity to spend time with Thorin outside of council meetings or official royal business for months now, ever since Thorin had recovered enough to limp from the tent in the desolation back to the mountain, he'd been consumed with whatever the most urgent thing was in his face in that moment. It was up to Bilbo to get the most out of each brief encounter - like a parched plant soaking up water in the rainy season, in anticipation of the drought that would soon follow (shamed as he was to admit it, even to himself. He was a respectable, old - well, _middle-aged_ bachelor, not some pining _tween_ ).

 

There was never time for quiet conversation during the several dinners they shared with the company each week. It was always a loud and boisterous affair, with everyone talking over each other, especially as the dinners had grown larger with the arrival of more of the company’s family. The rest of the royal family he could catch somewhat regularly - tea with Dis, hand-to-hand combat training with Fili, and of course his monthly journeys to Mirkwood with Kili. But as for Thorin, he heard much more of his well being (or otherwise) from his family than from the dwarf himself. He could not possibly expect Thorin to make time for him when there is so much else demanding his attention. Thorin did not reclaim the mountain just so he could _socialize_ in it.

 

Seemingly mollified by his explanation, Thorin made himself comfortable as Bilbo poured him a cup of tea. "We haven't discussed it in detail, but if you are sure you're satisfied…” He offered Thorin the delicate porcelain cup and saucer before the king could predictably reach for the seed cakes. Bilbo would like to have at least one, so while Thorin was distracted, he secured himself two cakes. The dwarf continued, “There are plans to expand the apartments in time, but we are some ways off from that."

 

"Of course, I expect there will be a lot of families in need of homes."

 

"Less than I would like, but we can hope that the that everyone arrives safely."

 

Bilbo nodded, sipping his tea and discreetly sliding the plate of seed cakes next to Thorin’s elbow. The various scenarios of how his time in Erebor would play out had all occurred to him; each scenario was more morose than the last. He tried instead to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and accomplishing as much as possible for the sake of what he now considered his family’s future. It was up to them - Dis, Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo - to provide the foundation of Fili and Kili’s legacy. The hobbit and Thorin’s sister had forged a strong alliance with the goal of keeping the council and Thorin from dwelling too much on the hard grind of their task, and reminding them that they were, in fact, making history. Try not to cock it up.

 

"Well, surely you didn't come here just to inspect my rooms," Bilbo offered when it seemed like Thorin wasn't going to expand on the thought and had decided instead to devour three seed cakes in succession..

 

He finished with a very unkingly and satisfied smack of his lips, followed by a sip of tea to wash the seed cakes down. Balin would have been appalled. Ah, there went that ridiculously regal eyebrow again. "What if I did, Burglar?"

 

Bilbo snorted at the old title. "Then I'd say you're a terrible liar and are likely trying to escape some unpleasant duty or other, and since no one would think to come looking for you here..." The hobbit shrugged. He'd meant it lightheartedly enough, but he couldn't ignore the pang he felt in his chest knowing it was probably true.

 

Thorin scowled and Bilbo felt no small amount of pressure under it. Well, why was he here anyway? To scowl at him? Send him in to another panic attack with his overbearing presence that Bilbo had apparently missed so desperately that he was willing to try and put up with his nonsense for just a few moments of private contact? There went his temper again and Bilbo could swear the temperature in his room had just gone up about 10 degrees. Bilbo was about to give the king a smart comment or two but Thorin spoke first.

 

"You're right, I did not come here to inspect your apartments. I wanted to discuss your trip next week to see the twigs of that accursed forest."

 

Oh. Well then. “What about it?”

 

“Kili will accompany Dis to Dale next week. Fili cannot be spared since I’ve just received word that we are to receive the first large caravan from Ered Luin. I’d prefer to have you here as well, actually. You’re indispensable with the operations that require complex organization, but we both know that worm-livered tree-shagger would show up at Erebor’s gates if you fail to appear.”

 

Bilbo frowned. “Of course Balin can’t be spared either, and I wouldn’t dream of asking Dwalin to bear Mirkwood for a full week. I don’t mean to be difficult, Thorin, but I do need an escort. The desolation is one thing, but the spiders-”

 

“You need not convince me of the necessity of an escort, though Fili assures me that you are quite the proficient with your letter opener these days. I also noticed that when Kili tried to tackle you in the library this afternoon, you not only knew he was coming, but that little pinch you gave to his wrist seemed quite effective.”

 

“Ah,” Bilbo laughed, pleased entirely too much that Thorin was aware of his existence outside of his role as an advisor. “Well, _that_ is an old Shire trick. Helps keep the rowdier tweens in line.”

 

Thorin smiled warmly. “If it works on my nephews, then I must know how to employ this trick myself.”

 

“And so that is why you came? To compliment my blossoming skills as a warrior?”

 

Thorin put down his cup and laughed loudly. Well it wasn’t that funny. He was improving.

 

“Only you, Master Baggins, could liken training in the martial arts to something a plant does. _Blossoming_... I only wish Dwalin had heard that,” he finished, before his expression became somewhat hesitant. “I only wanted to inform you that the only one who can be spared for Mirkwood is  Dáin.”

 

Bilbo slowly set his tea cup down as well. Now it was his turn to narrow his gaze at Thorin. _“Surely_ there must be…”

 

Thorin looked almost apologetic. At least that is what he assumed Thorin must be trying for. It was coming across a lot more impassive than what Bilbo was sure he intended.  

 

“Well no, I suppose not,” Bilbo sighed. “You are making my job a lot harder, you know. Thranduil was fine to let Kili wander around with Tauriel and the Prince -” Bilbo ignored the twitch in Thorin’s eye at the mention of Kili’s friendship with Mirkwood’s Captain and Thranduil’s son, “-while I kept him preoccupied, but I hardly think Dáin is going to be as content, nor Thranduil as lenient.”

 

“I’m sure you will manage,” Thorin said flatly. “I will certainly not begrudge my cousin the chance to wreak havoc in the fairy tree house for a few days.”

 

“Oh, well, so long as we know how important my months and months of toil - on your behalf, need I remind you - to build some semblance of a rapport with ‘that twig’ is to you. Especially since it’s all about to be unravelled.”

 

Now Thorin did roll his eyes. “Despite what you may think, you are not the only one who knows how to talk to elves. Lest you forget that Dáin is a lord himself -”

 

“Oh how _could_ I forget that?”

 

“- he’s perfectly capable of being diplomatic given the right incentive. And apparently the chance to accompany you to Mirkwood was all the incentive he needed.”

 

Bilbo almost choked on his tea. “What?”

 

Thorin shrugged. “I know you’ve mentioned you find him… odd.”

 

“Disconcerting. Discomfiting. Those are other words for ‘uncomfortable’ Thorin. He _follows_ me around the mountain sometimes.”

 

This made Thorin grin. “He is a dwarf and you a hobbit, you act as though his behavior is surprising,” the king said, as if this explained everything. “He has always been far more easy going in forging friendship than I, even when we were lads. He chased me around the mountain until I accepted his presence. You are a private person, so naturally his attempts to understand your motivation for being here would come across as intrusive. Now, he simply accepts that you are just as much a dwarf of Erebor as any other member of the company.” After a pause he added, “Mahal help you.”

 

Bilbo  smiled briefly and sighed, not willing to put any real heat into the argument. Instead he finished his tea and before Thorin could leave offered him some tobacco. Together they sat and smoked and enjoyed the rare moment together not spent in the council chambers or the throne room or somewhere else where work could be shoved their way.

 

As he stood to leave, Thorin remarked, “I managed to evade everyone for almost over an hour. Tell no one of this, or they shall start posting a guard at the end of your hall.”

 

Bilbo chuckled and pretended to shoo him away, wishing truly that he didn’t have to leave.

 

* * *

 

"For all that I heard about it, I haven't seen a shred of evidence to convince me that Master Baggins has anything but a friendly regard for my brother," Dis commented, her eyebrow raised and her strong, yet petite hands gently cradling a cup of tea.

 

"Aye, that's what I thought," Dáin replied, ignoring the cup Dis had poured for him in favor of running his hand through his beard. "Directly after the battle, I thought the devotion I saw to Thorin and this damned mountain could only be explained by another sort of connection, but I've not seen anythin’ more since then."

 

She frowned. "Well, as I said, I've only seen friendly regard, but if there were more to it, surely it would be difficult to cultivate such a relationship in soil such as this," the princess made a motion with her eyes and free hand that indicated the entirety of Erebor. "Not to mention Mahal could have done my poor brother a favor and put just a little more of that idiotic brain in his trousers, if you catch my meaning."

 

Dáin laughed loudly. "Aye, hard not to. Used to claim he wasn't interested in such things, but I know better."

 

Dis only hummed. "So why the sudden interest in our halfling?"

 

"Careful now," Dáin gave her a fake stern look, "don't let him hear you say that."

 

Dis snorted. "Yes of course, he isn't half of anything," she repeated the familiar rebuke. “Nonetheless. You're interested and I want to know why."

 

"Ye were always the sharp one, cousin, I cannae deny that. The sharpest, but Frerin could always give you a run for your-"

 

"Don't try to distract me, Dáin. My patience could never match Frerin’s."

 

Dáin grinned. He was silent for another moment before he said, "Hobbit or no, he is rather  comely."

 

Dis closed her eyes as she let out an abrupt and exasperated sigh.

 

"Now dinnae be like that," Dáin consoled her. "You know these things have a way of turnin' out how they're meant to. Just because there may, or may not, have been something there dinnae mean I'm remiss in puttin' my bid in. We have a duty to seek our One if we feel the pull-"

 

"Don't you dare sit there and tell me Bilbo Baggins is your One," Dis snapped.

 

"I know he's not, Dis. I have never felt the pull," Dis' mouth dropped open for a moment before she clicked it shut again. "But that dinnae mean I’ve any less right to pursue a spouse and find happiness. What I'm sayin' about duty is that if Bilbo were Thorin's One, then well, I understand what Thorin’s been through in the last two years but -”

 

Dis abruptly set down her tea cup and glared. “No, I should think you do not. And forget the last two years, cousin. Try the last 171. Even after Azanulbizar, you went home, _Dáin_. Less a leg and a father, but you went home, where you stayed. Don’t you dare try to shame my brother if he was putting it off, or was foolishly choosing to ignore it."

 

The steely look in Dáin’s eyes lessened, and he seemed properly chastised. Dis picked up her tea again and took a sip. The thought had certainly crossed her mind, especially when she first met Bilbo. She was reassured (perhaps naively) in thinking that Thorin would have done right by his One if he had found them. But he had every reason not to, if that were the case. It did not make the accusation less damning, but if ever there was a dwarf that deserved some indulgence in this regard, it was Thorin.

 

It was an affront to dwarrow sensibilities, yes - love was so rare and was thus not thrown away so easily. But circumstances weren't ideal in the least. "It would not be an easy thing to pursue a relationship with your One when they are not a dwarf. Especially if you are a king. And King of Erebor, for Mahal’s sake. Eventually as reconstruction is completed and the mountain is once again filled with dwarves from the mines to the top, the council will want to reinstate Court. They'll want Thorin to marry well. And the same people that might shame Thorin for his inaction now would also be encouraging him to marry for some diplomatic gain later."

 

Dáin stood and cracked his neck, sighing deeply. "I'll say this cousin. No nobility, no council, no Court will dissuade me from pursuing Master Baggins, regretful as I am of Thorin’s circumstances. Thorin may have a long time yet before he has such sway over his own kingdom, but that is no fault of mine, and I'll not stand by and waste this opportunity. If I can win him, I will take him."

 

Dis believed that.

 

"And so, what? You came to me to confirm that my brother and Bilbo are not promised to each other? I couldn’t even tell you that for sure, Dáin. As much as no one has witnessed anything obvious, they are two very private people. If you're asking for my blessing, I’m afraid you’ve been digging in the wrong mine.”

 

Dáin grinned. "No, I don’t need yer blessin’. But I am no’ completely cruel. It will become plain what my intentions are towards Master Baggins, if perhaps not to Master Baggins himself at first.” He chuckled at this. “You can give Thorin a head start if you want."

 

For a long while after Dáin had left, Dis pondered her concerns. She loved Thorin, and wanted him to be happy. But they were both pragmatics, so when Dis took notice of Bilbo and how the company treated him, how _Thorin_ treated him - no standing on ceremony, first name basis, and occasionally he would grasp the hobbit’s shoulder or pat his back - she thought it odd but not worth questioning. Yes, she had heard the story of Bilbo rescuing Thorin from Azog, and the unusually intimate embrace they shared later when they were safe. She had heard all accounts of it, literally, from the unique perspective of each member of the company, except Thorin. Then there were the admittedly romantic retellings of the bedside vigil the hobbit kept for Thorin while struggled to survive.

 

Apparently she had given her brother too much credit in this regard and now, in addition to securing the legacy and lasting happiness of her  boys, she was obliged to expend precious effort sussing out the situation or lack there of between the only hobbit in Erebor and the King Under the Mountain.

 

She need more information. And she knew precisely the two dwarves she needed to speak to in order to get it.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo hadn't been paying attention again. The hobbit found himself struggling to be present during the bickering back and forth between the Guildmasters, of whom Dori was the worst. He was truly, truly the worst. He liked and respected Dori well enough, and had him to thank for being in possession of a decent wardrobe when such a luxury was scant at this point in Erebor's reconstruction. He enjoyed almost every moment he spent with Dori outside of the council chambers. Inside the chambers, Dori transformed into the most taxing of bureaucrats. That he was one of the few dwarves in the company that held fast to tradition made him an invaluable consultant to Thorin. Dori was one of the few present who understood the intricacies of inter-Guild negotiating and the necessary attention that needed to be paid to matters such as what Guild needed the largest allotment of space in the market, funding for new entrepreneurial enterprises and training for the next generation of Masters. Somedays, knowing how lost they would be without the eldest Ri brother’s expertise is all that kept Bilbo from putting on his ring and throttling the contentious bastard. Not having the energy this afternoon to actually play mediator and make some progress out of the snarling and posturing and insults thrown back and forth in Khuzdul, he'd let his mind wander where it usually did; to Thorin.

 

Thorin, standing in the rare bit of sun the council chambers got due to having only one window installed. He looked to be enjoying today's agenda about as much as Bilbo was. The king was pinching the bridge of his sharp nose and his eyes were closed. Bilbo observed him, thinking back on Dáin and their resemblance. He began to imagine how Thorin would look with a full beard, or Dáin with black hair. No, that would look ridiculous. Thorin's hair was finer than Dáin's, and Bilbo wondered if that would mean his beard would be thinner than his red headed cousin's.

 

He was so lost in his contemplation that it took him a few moments to notice the room had gone  quiet. A quick look around the room to notice that everyone was staring at him. Including Thorin. The council chambers had a very tall ceiling, with a table  long and broad, and the room was spacious to keep crowding at a minimum. Despite this, Bilbo felt completely suffocated with all eyes in the room on him.

 

He sent a panicked glance to Fili a few seats down hoping the prince would give him a hint as to what had just transpired and why all eyes on the room were on him. Fili's expression was not forthcoming. In fact it looked accusing.

 

There was nothing for it then. He cleared his throat and bowed his head sheepishly, "I'm sorry, my mind wandered. What have I missed?"

 

"It might help if you spoke in Westron, cousin," Thorin snapped at Dáin. Bilbo's head whirled to meet Thorin's gaze. Bilbo sent him a questioning look, but just as with Fili, accusation was all he got in return, if a bit more haughty than Fili's expression.

 

"I said I want to formally request that Master Bilbo Baggins return with us to the Iron Hills in the spring as an envoy and special ambassador. I've previously expressed to our fine hobbit that-"

 

Bilbo had just begun to draw breath into his lungs to form an argument when Fili interrupted. "Lord Dáin, with all due respect, Master Baggins is not _our_ hobbit. Neither is he _your_ hobbit. He is his own."

 

"Besides," Kili joined in, crossing his arms and shooting a worried look at Bilbo, "if he did belong to anyone it _would_ be us. You have no claim, cousin. Get your own hobbit."

 

Dáin laughed loudly and warmly at that, but Bilbo's spine had gone rigid, and sitting though he was, his consternation at the subject of this discussion brought his hands to his hips. Another argument was forming on his lips when he was interrupted again, this time by Thorin.

 

"If Master Baggins is unsatisfied with _this_ mountain of dwarves, it is entirely his own business if he has decided - in _thorough council_ with you, cousin - that the Iron Hills would suit him better."

 

Bilbo had had enough. He’d had enough of being cut off from speech and his own damn opinion  by every dwarf who crossed his path. He was not going to sit here and gawp stupidly while the line of Durin contested their non-ownership of him. He stood up, his chair making an awful din as it scraped the floor.

 

"That will be _quite_ enough, thank you. I'm not sure how all this talk got started since none of it was in a language I could understand, but I am certain we can all agree on this; appointing me to represent Erebor in the Iron Hills is not a topic on today's agenda and if you would ALL be so kind as to speak in Common, I would sincerely appreciate it. Finally, I will not suffer the next dwarf who cuts me off. Moving along!" he barked. He crossed his arms over his chest as if that decided the matter and sat back down.

 

The rest of the meeting went without interruption. It had not taken him very many council meetings to realize that if he was going to do better than be swept up and ordered about by any dwarf who had a mind to bully him, he was going to have to learn to do some bullying himself. He’d gotten comfortable with shouting, arguing angrily and withstanding the constant back slaps, hip checks, tackles from the princes and Gimli, and other forms of battery that were passed off as affection. Hence, the training with Fili. Hence the somewhat grim determination that the seemed to accompany him everywhere, despite the battle being over and the mountain having been won. Hence having very little time to even think about why it felt like something kept him from being content.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Bilbo fell asleep quickly and dreamed of his company of dwarves invading his apartments and raiding his tiny kitchen, smashing all the dishes and each one tugging on one of his curly locks as they left.

 

 

 

 

 

Winterfilth - Middle Earth equivalent to Oct 22 - Nov 20 (<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle-earth_calendar>)

“I’m rubbish at such games. I never could tell a king from a knave!” This quote is generally attributed to John Wilkes in regards to King George III, and I'm paraphrasing.

 

 


	2. The Orange Menace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dáin and his majestic war-swine get some one-on-one time with Bilbo, Nori does some investigating and is obliged to do something nice in the process, and Dis spits some hard truths to her older brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Amity/silentunicornspeaks for her thorough (despite suffering from jet lag) work! 
> 
> If you like this story so far, let me know and leave a kudos. Want to REALLY make my day? Leave me a comment. :)

Just by the sound of the echo of her footsteps - that determined stride hitting stone - Thorin knew it was his sister on the other side of the door without needing the guard’s announcement. He gave a nod and a moment later Dis stood before his desk, looking at him expectantly.

He set down his quill and motioned for her to sit. It felt absurd - his sister did not need his permission to sit, so why was she waiting for it?

Dis did not sit. Instead, she raised her eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot impatiently. Thorin responded with a questioning glance.

“Mahal’s hammer, Thorin, my _chair_. You do not flap your hand at a dwarrowdam to sit as though she were some common servant, even if that is what she is. Get up and pull out my chair for me _if you please_.” Dis did not raise her voice and she did not need to. He _could_ argue or remind her that he was a king, and her king at that. Instead, Thorin rose to his feet and led her from the office to the side chamber. There was a hearth, and before it a jeweled mosaic table with two finely upholstered chairs. He pulled one out for her and waited to see her comfortably seated before he returned to the guard at the door and informed him to have tea brought up.

His mother would have been proud to know that despite some childish part of him feeling resentful for being reminded of his etiquette lessons, another, bigger, part of himself was embarrassed that he had needed reminding at all. Dis was not his mother, no matter the years she had been obliged to play the part. Now, it was Dis’ turn to be treated as the princess she’d never had the chance to be. They had the opportunity to live the life the fire slug had stolen from them, and Thorin for his part could be doing a better job. He could behave like a civilized dwarf and, on occasion, a king.

“How are you since council this morning, sister?” Thorin inquired and took the seat across from his sister.

Dis smiled approvingly. “Busy, of course. I’ve just left Lady Sigrid and little Tilda with Dori for their fittings. Bain seemed to be enjoying himself with my sons.”

“Ah, yes, we are to have the bowman and his boy for dinner-”

“ _King_ Bard will be here for dinner with _Prince_ Bain and the princesses, yes.”

Thorin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly instead of letting loose a snide rebuttal. That was all the acknowledgement he was going to give her correction. He’d never had their brother’s patience. “Do you require my assistance with any preparations?”

“Of course not,” Dis said fondly. “Balin will have it all well in hand.” She could see Thorin was trying. Her brother could usually be counted on to improve his manners around children anyway, and Bard’s bairns were no exception.

Young Prince Bain was in such obvious awe of Thorin and her sons, though he predictably became quieter in the king’s presence. It was often enough that her brother’s and Bard’s priorities were in direct conflict with one another, and as prince, Bain was privy to all the odious details. Dis had watched her own eldest son go through the awkward transition of son and nephew to heir, upon whom heavy expectations fell, and she could see Bain begin the change himself.

Tilda and Sigrid were a joy to be around, one that she had never known before. Dis was blessed with two fine sons, but she would not have resented Mahal for giving her a girl. Their energy was just as boundless as her sons’ at the girls’ age, but it was different all the same. Sigrid was very direct and polite with Thorin -  never avoiding him as the timid Bain sometimes did. She curtsied upon greeting the king of Erebor without fail, and took care to look him in the eye when asking how he was fairing or how some reconstruction effort was proceeding. The young lady was proving to be quite the skilled diplomat already. Thorin would never admit that he was charmed by the Bard’s daughters, as Dis wasn’t even sure Thorin would recognize it if he were being charmed. It was not difficult to imagine what his reaction might have been, however, if anyone other than Tilda had informed the king to take care because, in her words, “ _It would not do for your very angry face to get stuck that way, like Da’s_.”

Getting on to the reason for her visit, Dis began, “I joined Bofur and Dwalin for a drink last night.”

Thorin’s curiosity was instant, but a knock came at the door and Dis waited for the Laketown woman to bring in their tea. With dwarrow scarce until the caravans from Ered Luin started to arrive in earnest, Bilbo had thought it would be prudent, and a show of neighborly affection, to hire able bodied men and women from the ruined town to do some of the more basic jobs that needed filling inside the mountain. Thorin had been reluctant at first, as this would require housing said employees, and that meant more non-dwarrow in the mountain. Eventually he agreed that the Iron Hill soldiers and families that had traveled to Erebor on their own would do better to focus on the jobs that only dwarves could do. It had been Bilbo’s point that these people could be trusted despite the king’s concern, but they did require the opportunity to prove themselves if that was what Thorin called for.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thatcher. Have they completed clearing the east hallway yet?”

If Mrs. Thatcher was surprised at being addressed by the king, she did not show it. “Just a tick ago, they did. It’s a right blessin’ on my feet already, Your Majesty. Much easier gettin’ about now, so you have my thanks for it.”

“I am a selfish dwarf, Mrs. Thatcher. A dragon could not keep me from my mountain, and I will not let a pile of rubble hinder _you_ from bringing me _my_ morning coffee.”

“Nor your afternoon tea, t’would seem. Mind I nicked some of Master Baggins cakes for you there, though I wouldn’t go boastin’ about it.”

“I am the soul of discretion, madam.”

She nodded wordlessly and give a graceless curtsy to Dis as she left.

“You might consider leaving her on permanently,” Dis said behind her grin. Thorin snorted.

“The matter would be entirely up to Mrs. Thatcher. I have the strongest feeling I could neither compel her to leave if she wanted to stay, nor convince her to stay if she wanted to go. Why were you drinking with Dwalin and Bofur?”

“I wished to have a long neglected conversation with them about Master Baggins,” the princess said, mostly ignoring the tea. She did not want to seem ungrateful, but Thorin had picked up this tea habit and run with it, and Dis was at a bit of a loss to keep up. For, as indifferent as her brother seemed about the hobbit, she _had_ noticed the faithful increase in meals amongst the company, and Thorin was no exception. For a while, she’d just assumed that Bilbo was doing his part to facilitate everyone’s recovery after months on the road and a terrible battle. Then she’d realized it was more of a hobbit lifestyle, and it seemed to have caught on successfully (if her family’s sturdier physique was any indication).

Dis watched her brother’s face closely. Yes, there it was. He was schooling his expression, his eyes quickly looking down and to the left before flicking back up, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. Had he always done this when discussing Master Baggins?

“And what conversation did you have about our hobbit that required specifically Dwalin and Bofur’s perspective?”

Dis was kicking herself now. How had she missed _that_? _Our hobbit_. Of course she had heard this language from the entire company, her sons especially. It just had not occurred to her until now how very odd it was that Thorin used it as well. His station dictated that his demeanor be stern and detached, and that terms of endearment were used sparingly or not at all. Thorin had not called Fili _little lion_ or Kili  _little wolf_  past their 35th name days. Dis could tell he longed to coddle them and be the uncle that the king could never allow him to be. She recognized the same longing in his eyes and voice when Thorin referred to Bilbo. Almost as if he wished to say _my_ hobbit.

“A very interesting one. One that you and I should have had a long time ago as well, I’m afraid. But I’ve left you to your own devices, and I’m wondering if I have cause to regret that. In fact, I’m not so much wondering anymore as certain.”

Thorin leaned back in his chair and rest his chin on his fist. His expression was inscrutable. “Are you telling me to send him home?”

Dis laughed. “Oh dear brother… I could no more send Master Baggins from here than you could Mrs. Thatcher. Besides, why would I want him gone? He is as much a part of Erebor now as you or I, and I cannot imagine life without him.” A little more somberly, she added, “It is my strongest wish that he will eventually be persuaded to make his life here, and quit the Shire entirely.”

Thorin’s gaze had moved to the pot of tea and remained there. “That is also my wish.”

“That is not your _only_ wish brother, and that is why we must now have this painful and embarrassing conversation.”

“What exactly did those idiots tell you?”

“That you fell in love with Bilbo not long after he saved your life. That Bofur, being closest in friendship to Bilbo,  is quite sure this is the worst case of mistakenly unrequited love that he has ever had the misfortune to witness. Dwalin agreed, more or less.”

Thorin met her gaze with resignation, and that did not sit well with Dis.

“Well?” she pressed gently.

“His regard extends no further than friendship, of this I am certain. I would have him stay as long as he is willing, and share in whatever friendship he wishes to give, _without_ the undue burden of explaining my regard for him.”

Dis did not bother to hide what she thought of that. “Yes, quite the friendship you have going, even if that _is_ the absurd conclusion you’ve lead yourself to. Really, Thorin, this is preposterous. You have made a complete mess of this, haven’t you? And you don’t even know how much of a mess, you poor sod. I’m not sure how you’re going to fix this-”

“There is nothing to fix,” he snapped. “If you think this hasn’t tortured me since I understood he was my One-”

“So he is, then.” Dis smirked victoriously. “I didn’t expect you to admit it.”

Thorin sneered, his patience obviously spent and manners gone. “Do not expect me to sit here while you revel in the circumstances of misery.”

“ _Mahal_ help me. Thorin, I would never revel in your misery, and it is beyond unkind for you to accuse me, of all people, of such a thing,” she frowned at him sternly and took a moment to prepare herself cup of blasted tea. She needed to give herself a moment to choose her next words wisely. “I know this must hurt you, even if you haven’t shown it. But I am angry. It is not meant to be this way, _nadad_ , and you know better. I will not let you give in to these circumstances. I cannot, not after all you did to ensure I could marry Vili. I did not come only to hear you admit this. There is something you should know.”

“What else could there be to know?” Thorin voiced bitterly.

Dis took a sip of tea. She hated to disrupt the sense of contentment and normalcy that had finally settled over their lives. The reconstruction effort took it’s toll and would do so for years to come, but finally they were home. They were in the home that they were born in, and would wake up every day for the rest of their lives in. The home that, Mahal willing, they would die in. Thorin did not need to fight anymore; except it seemed that was no longer true. It was Dis’ job to rouse the warrior who had only just settled into repose. It was a hard thing to do when he was obviously so tired and resigned.

“Dáin expressed to me his intention to court Bilbo.”

* * *

 

“Do you _really_ have to bring…. that? I mean… him o-or her? A pony wouldn’t do?”

“Come now, Bilbo. Do you really think a wee little pony can handle this much dwarf?”

Bilbo snorted at that and patted his pony’s neck consolingly. “You can’t be much more dwarf than Thorin, and he seemed perfectly capable of riding a pony.” _Like a civilized person_ , Bilbo thought. He wasn’t entirely sure that Dáin’s battle pig would be able to efficiently navigate the winding, narrow paths of Mirkwood. The noise the creature was bound to make certainly wouldn’t help them avoid the spiders. He’d seen the animal in battle - it could scale a mountainside well enough - but Bilbo rather thought the bright coppery hue of its pelt would do little to conceal their presence. The non-stop snuffle-grunts and snorting alone were sure to alert every eight legged horror from the forest’s edge to Dol Guldur.

“My good hobbit, if only you’d allow me, I would be happy to show you all the ways in which I am _more dwarf_ than my cousin.” He grinned cheekily at Bilbo.

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond but, deciding quickly that Dáin could not have meant that the way it sounded, shut it again. He shifted anxiously in his saddle. He wasn’t sure what the point was in Dáin boasting about his self-perceived superiority to Thorin. He’d long since decided that Dáin had no desire for Erebor’s throne and was, in fact, present in Erebor for philanthropic reasons. Perhaps it was just a regional trait - Bilbo hadn’t really witnessed brash displays of machismo from anyone in the company except Fili and Kili, and that could easily be attributed to their age. Any behavior witnessed during any dragon-based illnesses did not count.

Perhaps it was just Dáin.

“Fear not, Bilbo. I am as able a protector as my young cousin Kili. No harm will come to you while I am with you,” he added confidently.

Bilbo sighed. They’d been on the road since before sunrise, but it was clear to him that they would not be making the distance from Erebor to the edge of Mirkwood in one day. With two well rested ponies, Kili and Bilbo could manage the distance of the desolation in a day, making it to the forest by sundown if they traveled light and fast. There was a watch post with cots to kip on just inside the borders, and a sentry was usually on duty and had a meal to share.

It seemed Dáin had no intention of spurring his…. _combat hog_ any faster than an amble. They would have to camp in the desolation and continue the journey to Thanduil’s palace tomorrow.

“We might as well make camp as soon as we find a suitable place. No point in setting up in the dark.”

“Aye, as you wish.”

After spotting an acceptable looking patch of earth that featured a withering tree and a large boulder that was just slightly larger than Dáin’s pig, they quickly set up camp. With the expertise of a road-hardened ranger, Bilbo set about clearing his area of sticks and rocks, laying out his bedroll close enough to the fire for warmth (but not so close as to risk rolling into the fire in his sleep, there would not be the abundance of other bodies to block his way tonight), then relieving his pony of her burdens. He turned then to set up the fire, but Dáin stopped him and told him to take his rest, assuring Bilbo that he was perfectly capable of building a fire, yes, thank you, now please rest your hobbit feet..

Bilbo hesitantly acquiesced and sat down to rummage through his pack. He was used to being required to pull his weight around camp, so it was strange for his traveling companion to be so courteous. Smoked meat and apples were the result of his search. Breakfast would be an even more meager affair - he’d planned to make it to the watch post and either share what food the sentry might have or see what might be available to hunt. But those plans had been dashed and he hadn’t properly prepared for any other scenario. Foolish of him, and very unhobbit-like indeed. He had no idea if Dáin had brought any provisions with him.

True to his claim, Dáin had a successful fire going moments later. Bilbo argued with himself for just a moment before dividing his rations as Dáin settled the pig and then himself by the fire.

“It’s not much, but we didn’t quite make it to the post like I thought we would, where we could have had a proper meal. I suspect we’ll make it til tomorrow without starving,” Bilbo added in a mutter, getting up to cross the camp and present Dáin with the meager meal. The dwarf looked at him quietly for a moment before accepting the meat and apple.

“You have my thanks, and my apologies for the delay I’ve caused.”

Bilbo blinked curiously, then returned to his side of the camp. “It makes no difference to our schedule, no apologies necessary.”

They were quiet as they ate, except for the outburst of happy grunts and squeals from the pig when Dáin tossed her his apple core. Bilbo’s thoughts were muddled and disorganized as he wondered whether Dáin would bother him, or settle right down for sleep. He worried if the lord of the Iron Hills truly knew how to conduct himself in Thranduil’s presence, or if Bilbo was in for a stressful week of cleaning up after the diplomatic mess the dwarf might make. Thorin seemed confident in him, but that wasn’t saying much in this case.

They finished their small meal and it occurred to Bilbo then that they would need someone to keep watch, or possibly take turns. He didn’t suppose Dáin would volunteer to do it himself - he was probably used to having his own soldiers and a proper tent. It’d been many long months since Bilbo had camped in the wilderness like this, and keeping watch wasn’t something he’d remembered to account for. Tidying up his pack again, he dug around for his pipe and resigned himself to staying awake.

“Will you tell me about the Shire, Master Baggins?” Dáin said suddenly, interrupting Bilbo’s thoughts.

Bilbo looked up, mystified as to how he should respond to this dwarf, and not for the first time.  Well, he knew what he should say in a normal conversation back in the Shire. Inquire about the future success or failure of Farmer Maggot’s crop. Comment on this year’s line up of competitors for the autumn cider drinking contest. Gossip about who’s daughter was seen holding whose hand next to the party tree. He finished packing his pipe, tucking away thoughts of his garden and arm chair. “So _now_ I am Master Baggins?”

Dáin’s eyes widened. “I… I’ve offended you. I wondered why you wouldnae use my name. If you were unhappy that I-”

“Not- no, please. Not unhappy, no. I confess I failed to notice it until you’d already been doing it for some time. You are a lord, and I have no rank. It would have been rude to correct you. I simply…” Bilbo floundered trying find the appropriate words to use to explain just why Dáin’s enthusiasm and familiarity discomfited him so. “I’d never met you. I never understood why you would wish to be familiar with me,” he finished, not sure if he’d managed to cause grave offense or not, but hoping for the sake of their journey that he hadn’t. He did not wish to be on poor terms with Thorin’s cousin, but the dwarf so puzzling. And prior to this, Bilbo had neither the time nor inclination to get to know him better and so adopted his avoidance policy. But life eased from chaos to rhythm, and as Dáin continued to prove to be no threat to Thorin, Bilbo supposed now that he had no real excuse to be so cold to the dwarf sitting before him."

“You cannae fathom why a dwarf would wish to be familiar with you?”

“Well,” Bilbo began, “I’m rather used to dwarves being a suspicious, secretive lot. Thorin didn’t trust me for the longest time.”

“Thorin,” Dáin growled, “can be a damn fool, and I recommend _against_ usin’ him as a standard for all o’ my kin.”  Dáin pointed at Bilbo sternly, “Don’t interrupt me this time, if you please. You are the hobbit who faced the wyrm, helped take back the mountain, and stole the bloody Arkenstone. You tried to stop that battle, stop my cousin, and tried to save us all. You dunnae even hail from this part of the world, yet here you _still_ are, helpin’ us put it all back together. You’re a wee little gem who in fact has proven himself to be larger than all of us and I’ll be damned if you haven’t got a spine of pure mithril. I walked into Thorin’s tent after the battle expecting to find three very dead dwarves and a gaggle o’ mourners. What I got was a furious fireball of a hobbit - I’d never even _heard_ of a hobbit! - who has let nothin’, not even death, get in his way. Do you realize the princes would be dead if you hadn’t convinced me the elves could help? I see now you dunnae comprehend the place you will have in history for the deeds you’ve done and friendship you’ve given.Tell me, Master Baggins - why _wouldnae_ I wish to be close to one such as you?”

Bilbo was quite pink in the cheeks by the time Dáin finished. He wasn’t sure where to start with any of that, but Dáin went on before he could decide.

“You’ve hair on your feet, Master Hobbit and I cannae tell you why that makes me laugh. I can make eye contact with you without gettin’ a crick in me neck, so maybe that’s why the pointy tips of your ears don’t bother me the way they ought to bother a dwarf.” The red headed dwarf smiled fondly and gazed across the flickering fire at Bilbo with, well, if Bilbo didn’t know any better, affection. “I desire your friendship very much, and I humbly beg your pardon for causing discomfort. I meant no disrespect, the opposite in fact. I only meant to convey to you, and anyone else that might hear me, that I trust you, and I support you. The same goes for my impertinent suggestion at the council meeting. I shouldn’t have presumed.”

_Well_. Bilbo forced himself to relinquish the lip he’d begun gnawing on and lit his pipe, if only to give his hands and eyes something else to focus on besides the very earnest dwarf in front of him. _Honestly. Dwarves. As emotional in their affection as they are in their hate._

“I’m not at all sure what to say, Your… I mean, that is, you’ve rendered me a bit speechless. Dáin.”

Dáin’s smile slipped into a more thoughtful expression, as if some new understanding had dawned on him. Bilbo instantly wondered if he would regret letting such flattery overwhelm his reservations about the dwarf.

“Then I wonder if you’ll consider my original request, and tell me of your Shire?”

Bilbo took a deep drag on his pipe, thankful for the offer to change the topic. Exhaling slowly, too antsy to concentrate on smoke rings, he wondered about the best place to start. He chuckled. “I think you shall regret asking, as any introductory discussion about the Shire requires a basic understanding of our very esteemed lineages, but I will humor you. How far west have you ever traveled?”

* * *

 

Dwalin, son of Fundin, head of the King’s Guard, was at this late hour bent over his desk reviewing the weapons inventory young Gimli had proudly presented to him this morning. When Thorin finally assembled an official armed force, there would be real generals to appoint this sort of task to. For now, Thorin at least wanted a dwarf he could trust on every major task of the reconstruction, particularly when it came to accounting.

“Couldn't help but wonder what would have brought m'lady over to you an' Bofur's table last night. Old friends catching up on old times?”

The hair on the back of Dwalin’s neck stood on end. His hand twitched for his weapon out of habit. How had that little weasel managed to get in the room without him noticing?

“What’s this now?” Dwalin muttered to seemingly no one, as Nori was still not within sight. “Ye don’t know something? How interestin’.”

Nori stepped out of the shadows where he’d been hiding behind an old suit of armor. Dwalin would have laughed at the absurdity of such a slapstick move if he weren’t already short at the fuse after a long day. The middle Ri brother was now Thorin’s off-the-record head of intelligence, or spymaster, or top crook; whatever they were calling it this week. Dwalin didn’t care as long as the former trouble-maker was _useful_. Prying into the royal family’s personal business did not seem a particularly appropriate use of the dwarf’s new authority in Dwalin’s opinion.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Nori said pleasantly. “I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Dwalin didn’t respond or look up. Nori would get to his point if he was patient.

The red headed dwarf pulled a stool up to Dwalin’s makeshift office space and leaned forward to perch his elbows on the desk. Threading his fingers together and resting his chin atop them, Nori explained, “It’s not an unreasonable assumption, if that is what you’re thinking, and I’m sure it is. I’m sorry to tell you that any business, personal or otherwise, is for me to know. Moreover, it is my job to know everything without bothering the bloody hell out of them. Spymaster, you know. I’m supposed to be discreet.”

“And this is what ye call discreet?”

Nori shrugged. “We’re in private.”

Dwalin didn’t respond, continuing with his report and still waiting for Nori to make his purpose clear.

“I am planning to follow up with Bofur. I already know the nature of the princess’s inquiries.”

Dwalin finally looked up, irritated. “Then why in _Mahal’s_ name are you here pestering _me_?”

“Because I want to know what you _think_. When Dis asked you about our king and his hobbit, what did you tell her?”

Dwalin grunted and pushed the report away. “You’re sayin’ _my_ take on it is something _you_ need to know?”

“Now we understand each other.”

Dwalin’s expression confirmed otherwise. Nori would have to use another approach.

“How about an eye for an eye?”

Dwalin sneered in disgust. “You have nothing I want, and I will not sell the privacy of my best friend and king for any price.”

Nori’s smile was unsettling. “I’ll give you permission to present your courting gift to Ori, and I’ll even prevent Dori from murdering you on the spot if I need to.”

Dwalin’s jaw dropped. To Nori, that sight alone was worth waiting for the perfect moment to dangle _that_ particular carrot.

* * *

 

Bilbo awoke disoriented. He didn’t remember falling asleep, and the smell of something cooking over the fire, and the hard ground biting into his back, had him drowsily wondering how much further the company had to travel before reaching the mountain. As he blinked himself in to wakefulness, his memories sorted themselves out and he sat up, wondering what Dáin had managed to rustle up to cook.

Said dwarf, however, was not in the immediate vicinity. After getting up and dusting the last vestiges of sleep from himself, Bilbo looked around and spotted Dáin some distance away, conversing with a Mirkwood guard on horseback.

Before Bilbo could take more than a step in their direction, Dáin stepped back and the guard set off toward the forest.

“Good morning, Master Baggins!” Dáin greeted him as he walked back to the camp. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” he said absently. “Why the…?” he trailed off, squinting into the sun and gesturing in the direction of the retreating elf.

“It would appear that the elf-king became concerned for your wellbeing when you failed to appear at the usual watch post. Sent some lass out to find you, and that one… Hennethil, it was, found us just before the sun came up. Offered the bird currently roastin’ for breakfast.”

_Elves. Thranduil is no better than any of them in his dramatics._

“I only wonder if Thranduil’s command to his scouts was to carry food with them in case they found the Very Important Hobbit hungry and wastin’ away, or if that was just good luck.”

Bilbo’s grin was entirely unabashed. “They know a hobbit’s needs well.”

“Aye, given what you’ve done for them, they’d better. Now, I might have done something practical like pack some biscuits that I suspect might be palatable with a bit o’ that wild bird. Then we can wake up my lazy girl here and be off before your elf starts shittin’ twigs.”

Perhaps Dáin was not so different from most dwarves after all.

Bilbo remembered to thank him for keeping watch through the night after he himself apparently nodded off in the middle of a long anecdote about Brutus Proudfoot’s great aunt Winifred.

“Twas no trouble, Master Baggins.”

“Now don’t play at that. Bilbo will do.”

Dáin beamed. “Bilbo, then.”

* * *

 

 _Spiders_. Bilbo knew that damn pig would make too much noise, but it did not help that they’d stumbled across a nest that had popped up on his usual route since his last visit. Dispatching them would be quick enough work what with Hennethil,  Dáin, _and_ the skirmish sow knocking the eight legged bastards about. But Bilbo’s pony still managed to spook and he was thrown to the ground. The hobbit was up on his feet in a flash, Sting drawn in an instant, and he crouched low and didn’t pursue his poor pony as it dashed off into the darkness of the trees.

He heard the sounds of more arrows whizzing through the air - a flash of auburn and gold hair flashing briefly across his vision before he realized Tauriel and Legolas had joined them.

Dáin was at his side suddenly. The dwarf clasped Bilbo’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Are ye hurt?”

“Just my pride. I trust you can keep from telling Fili that I fell off my pony like some sort of fauntling.”

Dáin sighed in relief and let Bilbo go. “He wouldnae believe me anyway. Damn these foul beasts - is it always this bad?”

“Depends, but this isn’t the worst it’s ever been. Usually Kili and I are just… a lot quieter.”

Dáin frowned, but that was all the time they had for idle chat as a spider bigger than Dáin’s pig descended on them from above.

It was several more moments of dodging fangs and slashing at glistening, hairy legs before the area was flooded with more elves, and the spiders dispatched. At Legolas’ instructions, Dáin and Bilbo let Tauriel them through the path the warriors cleared for them. It was slow going, especially with Dáin having to wrangle his steed occasionally to keep it from going off into the forest to kill more spiders.

Bilbo was exhausted, bruised, and well out of sorts by the time they reached the large bridge leading in to Thranduil’s palace. He was looking forward to a good meal, a hot bath, and a good night’s rest before resuming his diplomatic responsibilities.

* * *

 

“It’s for the best.”

Thranduil did not look impressed or convinced, but Bilbo was certain that the elf never did.

“Yes.”

“I _am_ sorry.”

Thranduil sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, shifting on his throne. “Yes, yes. It will be chaos without you, I’m sure. Just take the damned dwarf out of my kingdom before his pig destroys the plumbing. And Bilbo.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Do not bring that orange _menace_ with you again. Ever.”

Bilbo was not sure which orange menace Thranduil was referring to. “Of course not, my lord.”

“My son has sent out a hunting party ahead of you. You will be able to travel undisturbed.”

“You have my gratitude.”

“Hm. You must consider extending your stay next time, as I am being robbed of your presence this week.”

Bilbo smiled and bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

 

Dáin had misbehaved enough to get Thranduil to agree to cut their visit short after just one day. Bilbo did not think he could witness dwarven behavior more atrocious than the company going for a skinny dip in Lord Elrond’s fountains in Rivendell, but then again, they had not brought a pet that had managed to urinate on a sacred tree back then.

Thranduil was completely sincere with his threat. He’d cut off military and humanitarian support to Erebor over a _necklace_. Bilbo was getting indigestion just thinking about how many years it would take to make Thranduil forget this.The hobbit did not have that many years left in his life, of that he was certain.

Nevertheless, Bilbo was glad for an excuse to go back. He very much wanted to be present when the caravan arrived.

Thorin would get a full account, and a piece of his mind, at the first available opportunity. The king had vouched for his cousin’s good behavior, and Dáin and Thorin both were going to find out just how much they had let Bilbo down. But for now he was returning to the mountain to meet the caravan, and for that, he was grateful and his spirits were up.

Dáin was following behind Bilbo quietly - as quietly as Frónka, he’d learned the great sow was called - could follow along anyway. The great Dáin Ironfoot had been behaving like a scolded puppy for the better part of the day. He genuinely seemed distressed to have troubled Bilbo, but he was equally defiant that his behavior (or that of sweet Frónka) should cause offense at all.

_Where have I heard **that** one before?_ the beleaguered hobbit wondered.

They were not an hour or so away from the front gates when Dáin said forlornly, “I admit I regret the loss of opportunity for us to become better acquaintances.”

“I don’t expect that was on your mind while Frónka went about her business, no,” Bilbo said mildly.

Dáin laughed. “Such a sharp tongue for such a winning creature.”

Bilbo scoffed. “I insist you disavow yourself of this notion that I am to be placed on some pedestal. I can cook well enough and tea is always at four if you’ve a mind to join me wherever I am - my apartments, the library, the council chambers. It’s always served for at least two. But I’m not half as nice as you think I am, anyone of the company can tell you that, and if you don’t believe them, I’d be more than happy to prove it.”

“So you dunnae enjoy and cannae take compliments. Duly noted.”

Bilbo tried not to laugh, but failed.

* * *

 

Thorin looked tired and bewildered to Bilbo as he was ushered into the king’s office. Likely he did not expect to see the hobbit back so soon, but he did not think it called for that much confusion.

“You’re back. You did not run in to trouble on the road, did you?” Dis asked, concern furrowing her brow.

“Are you hurt?” The king had risen from his seat and was two steps toward Bilbo before the hobbit said, “Not at all, nothing like that. I’m perfectly fine, don’t be preposterous.”

“Then...?” He pulled out a chair for Bilbo, but Bilbo remained on his feet.

“Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. We did not arrive when expected, so we had to camp in the desolation, which was fine, Thorin, there was no trouble, really. But we ran into a nest not longer after we entered the trees. There was a guard with us, and Legolas and Tauriel were there not long after with support.”

“You are sure you are unhurt?” Thorin pressed again.

“Yes, yes, of course. But this isn’t what I wanted to tell you. Your cousin-”

Thorin’s spine went rigid. “What about my cousin? What did he say to you? Did he-”

Bilbo bristled like an angry cat, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his curly-haired foot indignantly, “His pig urinated on a sacred tree and we were thrown out of Mirkwood with orders not to return with him ever again lest they sever all ties with Erebor forever!”

Thorin and Dis looked at each other then back at Bilbo. After a few moments of being subjected to their owlish stares, Bilbo finally threw up his hands in exasperation.

“How bad is it?” Dis asked.

“I will not live long enough to see him forget it. But perhaps if I start now, he’ll accept an apology by the time I die,” Bilbo snapped.

Thorin sank into a chair and sighed heavily, but for some reason Bilbo thought he looked pleased. “I do not suppose there is anything I can say or do that would be appropriate recompense?”

Bilbo pinned Thorin with a look. “Nothing comes to mind at present, no. Just be glad I’ve decided I like your cousin after all. A night of camping in the wilderness did wonders for my opinion of him, the behavior of his pig notwithstanding,” he sniffed.

“Is that so?” Thorin growled, no longer looking pleased in the slightest.

Now Bilbo was truly confused.

Dis suddenly laughed. “Well, that is Dáin for you. Now, Bilbo, if you would please accompany me to the library, I would appreciate your help finding a scroll before you retire. I’m sure you’re quite tired from all that travelling, and I don’t want to bother you later.”

Bilbo obediently fell in step behind Dis - it was impossible not to, even for the hobbit. He spared a glance and a nod back at Thorin, but the king’s attention was directed resolutely at the floor.

_How strange._

* * *

 

After searching for just a few seconds, Dis remembered that Ori had already located the scroll she was looking for and likely had it waiting in her chambers. She apologized for dragging Bilbo halfway across the mountain.

Feeling more tired and bewildered than Thorin had looked, Bilbo made his way to his apartments to spend the evening with his pipe, his tea, and a good book. He needed to recover his energy by tomorrow, as he would be needing it during the excitement and chaos of the first caravan arriving.

That night, comfortable in his own soft bed, Bilbo dreamed of Frónka rooting about in his garden at Bag End, making a terrible mess of his prize winning tomatoes and upending all of his tubers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired by and took directly from some of the names they've come up with for Frónka at the official Facebook of Dáin's War Pig:
> 
> https://www.facebook.com/DainsWarPig


	3. Spread the Word, Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is faced with the consequences of his emotional neglect. Ori uses Grasper as a cowbell. Bilbo works too hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Amity for her as hard work as usual!

Dis and Kili were due to set off for Dale even before first light. It was very poor timing to have all these negotiations as the first large contingent of the dwarves of Erebor returned (or in many cases, arrived for the first time). Dis had reminded Thorin that at least now Bilbo and Dáin would be there to help and if they were efficient in their task, and the people of Dale were cooperative, it was feasible - if not perhaps overly optimistic - that they could have the land distributed and contracts signed within two days.

Although normally spent in solitude, Thorin shared his morning routine with them before they left. Fili dutifully joined them, but not without complaint, as _he_ was not the one who had to be up that early. Sipping quietly on coffee (a luxury they had not been able to afford in Ered Luin) and enjoying the first round of scones to come out of the kitchen that day, they chatted about unimportant things in the comfort of Thorin's chambers while Fili’s pipe made the rounds between them. The dwarf king and his family sat together by the warm light of the hearth braiding each others hair and helping with their beads and beards. Kili had to be nudged awake again after falling back asleep with his head in his mother’s lap.

Sometimes Thorin was so grateful for it all his chest ached. Not the throne or Arkenstone or treasure; without his family, there would be no joy in any of it. It wasn't until his sister's sons lay dying on cots next to him, his own blood seeping from his body as payment for his madness and greed, that he realized what he had risked. The mountain was won and they had survived, but the regret and horror he felt threatened to overwhelm him at times.

To dwarves across Middle Earth, and for generations to come, he, his nephews, and the company would be legends. It should be a simple thing, but the vision of what he witnessed looking down from Raven Hill that day visited him regularly. The death and blood and blackness and destruction came to him in his dreams, throughout the day, and when he closed his eyes.

Never again would he put anything above the lives of his family. Mahal forbid he should ever know such circumstances again, but he was no longer blinded by single-minded duty or affected by madness. He could and would gladly give up his throne before asking his family to suffer for him or Erebor again. Never again would he let his pride or past prejudices skew what was most important - kin, friends, and the sense of home that these things brought.

He did not deserve more than that. He should be content. He should not still have such yearning for a pair of brown eyes twinkling at him from across the room, a pointed ear peeking out from golden curls, a slightly upturned nose that would twitch accordingly if one knew the right thing to say.

Melancholy had no time to settle too deeply in him as Balin and Dwalin joined him at the front entrance to see the prince and princess of Erebor off. The sun would be up soon, and he was tasked with welcoming his people home and seeing them settled before it set again. Together, Thorin, Fili, and the sons of Fundin made their way to the council chambers where second breakfast and a hobbit would be waiting for them.

 

* * *

 

Fili observed his uncle and Bilbo throughout that morning's council meeting, as per his mother’s instructions. Bilbo was high strung, flying through the scrolls quickly and randomly and batting away Dori’s interruptions effortlessly. Dáin seemed to be matching his energy, laughing and patting Dori on the back consolingly, much to the silver-haired dwarf’s displeasure. In just a few short hours, the caravan would arrive, and they were all excited and stressed and nervous, and the combination brought out strange behaviors in everyone. Even Dwalin could be seen shifting his stance repeatedly, the anxiety visible in his tensed brow. Thankfully they were only meeting to review once more the chain of command for reporting emergencies and a few last minute changes to the schedule for processing the new residents.

Thorin seemed a little quieter than usual, his gaze constantly fixed on Bilbo. After what Fili’s mother had revealed to him last night, he’d expected… well, any difference, a reaction, some proof that his uncle was ill-content.

It was his duty not only as a prince, but as a nephew as well, to pry into his uncle’s abysmal love life. Happy king, happy kingdom and all that. There was nothing Fili would not do to see his uncle’s life of sacrifice met with at least _some_ reward.

Trust his uncle to over complicate something that should have been simple.

Fili would be the first to throw a fist (or a knife, or an ax) at anyone who dared speak ill of the dwarf he revered as a father. Nevertheless, he never wanted to end up like his uncle, held captive by self loathing, unable to pursue his own happiness, his _One_... Thorin deserved better than that.

It was, however, beyond Fili's understanding of how to explain that to his uncle. Publicly Thorin tolerated the accolades and praise well enough - mostly by ignoring it. Privately he would hear of nothing but his own grave offenses should someone foolishly think to bring up the king's successes in battle and reclamation of his homeland. When they were growing up, a self-satisfied smirk would dawn upon his face when his nephews heaped praise upon their hero; for some success in hunting, for the creation of a fine weapon in the forge, or for bravery in the face of danger. Praise seemed to repulse him now.

When Bilbo was satisfied that everyone understood the new changes, and everything on the list had been touched upon, the hobbit relinquished control of the meeting back to Thorin, who briefly wanted to discuss their non-disclosure policy. Fili ought to have been paying more attention to this part - the bureaucratic nonsense about why it was important not to discuss the particulars of the reconstruction with the incoming dwarves just yet, and new appointments would be made for representatives of the council, and the new occupants would be debriefed on the current progress, etc etc.

Fili also had his mother’s orders, so he tuned the rest of it out to continue his contemplation.

Bilbo spoke to Thorin with a frankness reserved for only the king’s closest inner circle. It was probably one of the few outward signs that Thorin and Bilbo had any special connection at all, if one did not know their story. Fili didn't know if it was Bilbo's tendency to offer his observations and complements in a sideways manner (and that somehow made it more palatable for Thorin) or if it was just that anything the hobbit said seemed to reach the king more successfully. To be fair, those two generally avoided speaking about anything that had come to pass between finding the hidden door and waking up on the battlefield. When they did, Bilbo’s matter-of-factness about the Arkenstone debacle or the gold sickness kept Thorin from arguing about it.

 _“What’s done is done,”_ he would say, with flippant apathy. _“I stole the stone, you were a bit touched in the head, now here we are, alive, and I daresay that satisfies me well enough.”_

At times, his uncle would pull Bilbo closer to him under the guise of collaborating on a new project, then suddenly became too busy to see him outside the council meeting for weeks. Fili had observed it repeatedly. Bilbo for his part certainly seemed perplexed by it, if the occasional sour comment aimed at Thorin was anything to go by, but being the respectable creature he was, he didn't share anything deeper than that.

These troubling circumstances aside, Fili firmly believed Bilbo was putting down roots. If he was wrong, then his mother was an elf.

He just continued on - showing up wherever he was most needed and throwing all his energy into restoring Erebor as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Fili’s jaw had almost hit the floor when Bilbo _informed_ the prince that he would _require_ combat training, thank you very much. So the hobbit of Erebor spent his time overfeeding his dwarves, making friends with elves, and terrorizing Bard of Dale with his grand plans to install a world-class friendship-garden in their town.

It wasn't even his homeland, but it was here he continued to be, and it was not a great stretch of Fili’s imagination to figure out why that would be.

Now, Dis had informed Fili that another player had arrived on the scene. Instead of the violently explosive reaction from his uncle that his  _amad_ had been expecting, she had gotten only a bitter resignation that had apparently transformed into passivity by this morning. It was odd, to Fili, that the idea of  Dáin taking Bilbo away from Erebor in a diplomatic sense was more outwardly upsetting to Thorin than Dáin potentially stealing Bilbo’s heart.

His uncle was smithing with tainted metal, as the old proverb went. His mother had always told him that it meant it was against Mahal's intentions for his children, and against a dwarf's very nature, to deny themselves anything that they perceived belonged to them. Whether it be their craft, their home, or their One, the possessiveness of dwarves went beyond just tangible things. It applied to all aspects of life, so for the hunger and fire to disappear from a dwarf’s spirit was a sign of sickness. A recurring theme in the line of Durin, and his unfortunate uncle in particular.

He did not think Thorin weak, or truly sick. He was heartbroken, but Fili thought the proverb fit the situation well.

He lamented with his mother that no one had realized what was happening sooner. In the face of rebuilding Erebor, it was understandable that it would escape their concerns. Deep down, however, Fili felt like they had all been complacent and had been taking Bilbo’s presence for granted. Given that most of the company had expected something further to develop between Thorin and Bilbo, it was a mark against Thorin’s Company that they were only just now interfering, and only now because Dáin had announced his intentions.

Thorin made the motion to dismiss. Fili watched quietly as his uncle’s gaze remained on Bilbo, who was engaged in the beginnings of an argument with Dori while Dáin stood between them looking both bemused and hesitant. It made for a queer image, the large Iron Hills dwarf looking nervously between the much shorter Dori and the even smaller Bilbo. Fili might have laughed, if he had not caught the look of utter torment that briefly flashed across his Thorin’s face.

 

* * *

 

The brothers Ur had set about rebuilding the main kitchens (there was not much left to repair, after all) as soon as they were physically able. Their facilities, while modest, at least functioned, but still Bilbo was astonished.

How Bombur had managed to prepare so much food (simple fare though it was - porridge, various stews, fresh bread) in such limited facilities was inconceivable, and he would likely continue to prep and cook throughout the day, so as to keep up with demand. Every available counter space was covered with baskets and platters and pots of food. Eru only knew how long Bombur had been awake already, or if he had bothered to sleep at all. The chef had requested Bilbo’s presence at his earliest convenience to discuss the best way to distribute the food after the caravan arrived.

Bombur did not cease cooking as he listened to Bilbo explain the process. The hobbit wasn’t truly there to discuss these details - they were already ironed out as smooth as could be. Bombur just needed someone to keep him company for a moment and act as a balm for his poor nerves.

Bilbo made a pot of chamomile off to the side for them, hoping to tempt Bombur in to sitting, if just for a moment.

“We’ll need runners, I should think,” Bilbo said, pulling out a chair for his friend and motioning to the steaming cup waiting for him.

Bombur was to polite to refuse that. “I appreciate that, Bilbo. I could use a breather.”

Clapping his large hand on Bilbo’s back as he sat down, the hobbit was proud to say that his knees didn’t even buckle.

“A banquet would be best for the majority of the able bodied, and I dare say we can rustle up a good dozen or so volunteers to help with serving and replenishing the table as necessary, but for the mothers with very small children, or the elderly, or any sick and injured will need to have their rations brought to them.”

Bombur nodded approvingly.

Bilbo smiled at the chef. He knew that such a large project to keep Bombur distracted was probably a blessing of sorts. Eru only knew that poor Bofur was at his wits end trying to keep his cousin from flying to pieces with anxiety. It had been frustrating for Bombur to have to stay behind when Gloin left shortly after the battle to collect his wife and child and Dis and bring them back ahead of the caravan. The company cook had been too injured to travel so soon, and he was desperately needed in Erebor. Not to mention how dangerous it would have been to travel with so many small children and only the injured Bombur and Gloin there to protect them and the princess.

“You must be so very excited, my friend.”

Bombur’s smile was brilliant as he rose once more to fly around the kitchen checking pots and ovens, never letting his bulk slow him down or take away from the efficiency of his movements. “I can’t tell you, Bilbo, I just can’t tell you. I’m spoiled, after all, and I’m used to the sounds of children. I have longed for those sounds everyday. Now they’ve come home and we’ll all be together for the rest of my days. And,” he stopped suddenly and turned away from the stock he’d been stirring, “we’re richer than we could ever hope to be! I tell you, Bilbo, at least once a day I wonder when I’ll wake up.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I understand you well, Bombur.”

 

* * *

 

If Ori could write and wring his hands at the same time, he would have. There were so many dwarves, and it was all very loud, and as orderly as it was all turning out to be, it was inevitable with his smaller frame and introverted nature that he would have to push his way through crowds and holler to get anyone to listen to him. He didn’t know how Bilbo could keep up with this.

There were five particularly rowdy dwarves, all caught up in greeting each other, that were holding up his line. He didn’t know _why_ , they must have traveled the whole way together after all. After the third attempt to get even one of them to pay attention and answer his questions for the records, he began to look around for his brothers or another member of the company. He felt a tad pathetic, if he were to be honest. He hadn’t joined the quest and accepted his position as Master Scribe just to be treated like he had been back in Ered Luin. He shouldn’t _need_ to ask for help. And as long as he kept running to his brothers for help, the longer he-

Ori pulled himself together. Now was not the time to have a conniption about his emotional emancipation, Ori reminded himself. He would handle these dwarves himself.

He set down his scroll and quill and marched over to where some guard must have left his belongings while they went on break. He grabbed a familiar looking axe that had been propped up against a nearby table, and threw it's accompanying shield to the ground. Without any warning he brought the dull side of the axe crashing down on the shield, making a terrible racket but effectively drawing everyone’s attention, and dinging the hell out of the shield.

Blowing his bangs out of his face, he returned the weapon and shield to it's place and retrieved his parchment and quill.

“That’s better. Now, please reform the line and prepare to report! I will have no more delays or you’ll be sent to the very back of the line for holding everyone else up!” The youngest Ri brother was proud to say his voice didn’t break.

For a moment he feared that he’d made a scene for no reason, as several of the dwarves causing the delay had begun to grin at him and chuckle. But their smiles quickly disappeared.

“S’there a problem here, Master Ori?”

Ori couldn’t help it - his stomach dropped unpleasantly and the rush of blood to his cheeks almost made him dizzy when Dwalin strolled over to his line to… _Mahal’s balls_ , collect his axes and shield! Ori had just used Grasper like a cowbell.

“N-not at all, Master Dwalin. I... I might have borrowed Grasper-”

“Aye, I saw that. Nicely done. Good thing the shields a spare,” Dwalin commented, picking up the now badly dented equipment and raising his eyebrow at Ori.

“Oh, of course I’ll replace it-”

“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Dwalin rumbled. “Don’t let me keep ye.” He threw one last scowl towards the line and nodded to Ori as he left.

Ori shook himself and turned to the now very orderly and quiet line of dwarrow. They were gazing at him with a measure of respect that had not previously been there. He’d _almost_ earned it on his own. It was no matter - he had earned the respect of the dwarves that were important to him. The rest of these louts would figure it out if they ever stepped in the library or needed an official document or, Mahal forbid, had a legal matter. For now, this was enough to be getting on with.

 

* * *

 

“Stay _out_ of that tent if you know what’s good for you,”  Dáin warned as he steered Gimli by the shoulder away from his uncle’s tent where the young dwarf had been headed to offer his assistance. “The moment Oin asks for your help in there, you’ll be the first to know.”

Gimli bit back a retort about not being a dwarfling anymore. Dáin was only a very distant cousin, and a lord of his own mountains to boot. As amiable as the dwarf might seem, Gimli would not make any presumptions about their connections, nor would he dishonor his father and family by acting a fool in front of their betters.

“Where must a dwarf go to be useful? I see all of the king’s company working as hard as they can, while I wander around with no purpose. How can I be of service, my lord?”

All around them dwarves and the people of Laketown and the occasional elf were moving quickly to and fro, carrying supplies, escorting large groups and small groups from one station to the next, steering animals to temporary stables; in general it appeared that everyone was busy with some duty or another.

Dáin chuckled. “You’ll have to tell me when you find the answer. I’m beginning to wonder if the redheads of the line of Durin are being ostracized, for I also find m’self at a loss for how best to be employed. I’m no’ fit to greet - I got tired of it after the third dwarf that asked where they could get a glimpse of Bilbo Baggins the Barrel Rider or King Thorin the Dragonslayer.”

Gimli scratched his head at the latter one. “Well, that’s no’ precisely… the right title. Has a fine ring to it, though.”

Dáin laughed. “Aye. Seems the story went a bit astray on the way back from Erebor. I highly doubt that would have anything to do with your father, the illustrious story teller.”

Gimli chuckled. He could not deny it, so he changed the topic as they continued to make their way through the crowds. The young redhead went on, “It is a fine stroke of luck indeed to have Bilbo here. The hobbit has proven to have a mind for organizing. I wouldn’t mind makin’ a visit to the Shire one of these days to see for myself the famed Midsummer festivals he goes on about. Claims their malt beer can curl toes. Perhaps I’ll accompany when he decides to journey home. And speaking of the rascal, there he is!”

Gimli pointed across the way where Dáin could see Bilbo standing atop a table (this making him still only perhaps a head and a half taller than the swarm of dwarves he was surrounded by). They were all waving parchment at him, which he would snatch up and review, then hand back and deliver some instruction. Then the dwarf would be off and replaced by another.

The two Longbeards made their way over to the hobbit. “Can we be of any assistance, Master Baggins?” Gimli called out over the din.

Bilbo glanced up briefly. “We’re quite alright here, but Gimli lad, if you could go find Bifur, we need him over here to look at that broken down cart. The wheel’s come off and we need to get it out of the hallway and over to the west storage. It’s owners were sent ahead. I think you can find him-”

“Yes sir, Master Baggins! I shall return with him in no time!” Gimli was off like a shot, not waiting to hear the rest, so eager he was to have something to do.

Dáin lingered and eyed the cart. Might as well make himself useful.

 

* * *

 

“How did _you_ get roped into this?” Kili muttered halfway through his yawn.

Legolas did not frown outright, but Kili had finally begun to learn to read some of the prince’s more subtle expressions, and so the message was received. It was a game he and Tauriel played - guess what Legolas is thinking right now. Considering he spent a full week once a month in the Greenwood, he ought to be improving. His Sindarin certainly was - even Thranduil had the _magnanimous grace_ to indulge the prince of Erebor by greeting him with a _Mae govannen_ just last month after returning from a very successful hunt with his son. This was not a topic he could boast about to anyone but Bilbo and Fili, and Bilbo was the better since he actually understood the nature of the accomplishment. Each little phrase remembered, the gap between ideals made that much narrower by a deeper understanding of context…

Kili could go on. In the end, a fellow poet like Bilbo was the only one who could appreciate his endeavor, and that was good enough.

“So my uncle and my cousin are probably going to duel over Uncle Bilbo.”

Legolas blinked, his brows creasing in a childlike confusion. After a moment, he said, “I am confused.”

Kili snorted in an effort to disguise his laughter. He absolutely _adored_ that expression. It crept up at the most unexpected times, usually in reaction to conversations involving the finer aspects of the emotions of mortals.

“It is an unfamiliar sensation,” the prince of the Greenwood said in his defense.

Kili tried not to laugh at that either, but this time his mother shot him a look from across the room where she was explaining to representatives from Dale and Laketown the ins and outs of reading the key on the massive map of the Desolation they had brought with them for these proceedings.

He took a moment to compose himself before he continued on quietly, “What I mean is, Thorin and Dáin both wish to court Bilbo. Sooner or later, they will probably have to confront one another about it.”

Legolas’ brow creased even further. “A confrontation between two such dwarves would likely have a tragic outcome. This must be avoided at all costs, for Master Bilbo’s sake. What is your plan?”

Kili’s eyebrows could have been on the ceiling.

“I, well… we can’t just, you know… stop them,” he finished lamely. He hadn’t expected Legolas to respond with such conviction. He hadn’t really expected him to respond at all. Kili had just been trying to alleviate his boredom.

“I understand,” and there was a glint in Legolas’ eye. “There must be very complex dynamics at play. I can see very well Thorin’s regard for Bilbo, and Bilbo likewise for Thorin. Yet they are not married by now and do not seem likely to be. This cousin of yours... there must be good reason to believe he will upset the balance. Who is to say he would not make the better match for Bilbo?”

Kili’s indignant squawk earned him a eviscerating glare from his mother.

“You watch your tongue about this,” the young dwarf prince hissed. “You are _my_ friend therefore you are on _my_ side, which is Uncle’s side!”

“Of course,” Legolas agreed, his expression very serious. “Uncle Bilbo’s side.”

Kili’s withering glare could have rivaled his mother’s.

“What will _ada_ think?” the blond prince added as an afterthought.

Leaning forward from behind them, Bard, whose approach some time ago they had failed to notice added quietly, “I would be very interested to see Thranduil struggle with who to support - his old, lifelong enemy, or his new, lifelong enemy.”

Legolas cracked a small grin. “If we’re not careful, he may just decide to relocate Bilbo to the Greenwood permanently to keep him from either fate.”

The two plotting princes and the king of Dale quickly straightened up when they heard Dis purposefully clearing her throat at them, throwing Bard a particularly shaming-inducing glare. The king of Dale stepped a little more quickly than he normally might to his own seat at the front of the room and nodded at Dis to begin the proceedings.

 

* * *

 

The sun was setting as Bilbo did one last sweep with tired eyes over the grand entrance. Just a few soldiers guiding the last of the beasts into the stables for the night were left, along with some men and women taking brooms and shovels to the wide road leading up to the front gates.

His feet hurt so terribly bad. He was thirsty, his head was pounding, his back ached fiercely and he was positively starving.

Bilbo very desperately wanted to go see Bombur and his family, but he wasn’t even sure he was going to make it back to his rooms without collapsing. He’d really over done it today, but he was too proud of all of them to regret all the hard work. Everything had gone very well. If he could just make it back to his room to rest for an hour or so, then perhaps he could get back out and greet his new acquaintances properly. He really ought to check on Thorin, just to make sure he didn’t need anything first.

“Bilbo?”

He started, realizing that he’d stopped briefly to close his eyes and lean against a wall to catch his breath. He must have looked a thorough wreck, now of all the times when Thorin should find him. Well, at least he could see if the dwarf needed anything now.

“Thorin, I was hoping to find you. I need a quick kip and a decent meal before going… going to see about… everything.” Bilbo blinked as his vision became unfocused. That could not be good.

“Do you need anything?” he managed to eke out before his knees gave.

 

\--

 

“I was not _having a moment_ ,” Bilbo snarled as much as any hobbit could. He scrunched up his nose and bared his canines for a split second, so Thorin supposed it might be more of a sneer than a snarl. Still, it was a most ferocious sight indeed.

“No, of course not,” the king corrected himself. He raised a knowing eyebrow at Oin. “I meant to say that I noticed before Bilbo did how tired he appeared to be. He did not seem to notice that he was falling asleep on his feet, or that he had begun to fall-”

“Oh for Eru’s sake, I did not _fall_.” Bilbo sat in his arm chair stiffly as Oin gave him a once over. “I slid gently down the wall.”

Oin waved his hand dismissively. “Can’t say I didn’t expect to find m’self here at the end of the day,” the grey dwarf shook his head and spent the next few moments quietly inspecting the hobbit. He peeked at Bilbo’s tongue and eyes, felt his pulse at his neck and wrist, prodded his abdomen, checked his feet, and gave him a soft pat on the head. “Get some food in this hobbit’s belly, Thorin. Several mugs of water, also, and a nice cup of tea. Then put him to bed. Don’t get up until tomorrow,” he added to Bilbo sternly. “Everything will be just as you left it in the mornin’. You did well, lad.”

Bilbo pursed his lips, and Thorin could tell he was chewing the inside of his cheek, probably trying to decide if he was going to be stubborn. After a minute the hobbit relented and nodded in compliance with Oin’s instruction, and the medic grunted and let himself out after a quick word with the king.

Thorin gently manhandled Bilbo out of the kitchen. The poor hobbit had used up most of his remaining energy to hobble in there to put on tea while he talked with Oin, but just as he’d finished filling the kettle with water, Thorin’s warm hands enveloped his shoulders and steered him back to his sitting room to sit in his chair by the the fire. Bilbo only had to blink once before he was asleep.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he saw Bilbo nod off, Thorin strode quickly out the door to wave down Dwalin who keeping guard at the end of the hallway.

Dwalin approached. “What is it?”

“Have the kitchens bring over some supper and tea, and be sure to tell them it’s for Bilbo.”

“Doesn’t he have a kitchen in there?” was Dwalin’s retort.

Thorin glared. “I’d rather he not wake up to a kitchen destroyed.”

Dwalin snorted. It was a testament of his devotion to his friend and king that Dwalin merely grunted and went to do as he was told without further argument.

Thorin returned to Bilbo’s sitting room and set himself comfortably in the chair across from the sleeping hobbit to wait. The warmth of the fire had brought the color back to the hobbit’s face. The light danced across his relaxed features, giving his curly locks an unnaturally golden glow.

This was part of the reason the king had spent so much time avoiding Bilbo. If he was left to focus on nothing but the stunning creature before him, he had a tendency to become terribly lost in his fantasies. He couldn’t afford to be so distracted, and there was no point indulging himself in daydreams about the impossible.

A memory from earlier in the day suddenly resurfaced. He’d come across Bilbo and Dáin earlier that day. The king had watched, unnoticed, as Bilbo had hopped from atop a table and rushed over to his cousin, crowing praises for fixing a broken down cart in the middle of the hallway.

“ _I could kiss you, you silly dwarf!_ ”

“ _I’d hate to think I’ve robbed poor Bifur of the pleasure_ ,” his cousin had responded in his typically cocky, flirtatious way. Bilbo had blushed and swatted Dáin’s arm, and Thorin had turned in the other direction, unable to watch anymore. In the sheer confusion and business of the day, he’d forgotten about that little exchange until now.

Thorin sighed deeply. It was the only thing he could do to alleviate the pain in his chest. He’d much rather reach across the distance to trail his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, place a kiss across his beautiful brow, or just wake him up and tell Bilbo everything he’d felt since he met him. He wanted to court Bilbo properly, and proudly introduce him to his people as his future consort. He wanted to rebuild Erebor with Bilbo at his side, in his bed, in his life for the rest of the time that remained for him on Middle Earth. Mahal forgive him, but he wanted to retire to the Shire someday, and spend his final days beseeching his maker to allow their souls to remain together upon death. He wanted Bilbo’s forgiveness, he wanted to forgive himself, and more than anything right now he wanted to prove to his ridiculous cousin precisely why Dáin would _never_ lay his hands on _his_ hobbit.

A knock at the door pulled Thorin from his thoughts, which was just as well. The anger joining the ache was threatening to overtake him.

He was startled to open the door and find Bombur’s wife, of all people.

“Wrenli, what-?”

“Your Majesty, I received the message from Master Dwalin, and I thought I’d bring this up myself,” the beautiful dwarrowdam explained kindly, indicating the tray overladen with food and a pot of tea, offering a curtsy without even causing it to wobble.

Thorin frowned. “You have too many dwarflings to care for to be worrying about this, surely you’ve also been on your feet all day.”

He offered to take the tray but she adamantly refused, sliding past him, and tutting that it was no trouble. Seeing that Bilbo was asleep, she smiled fondly and put the supper quietly on the table. She turned to the king and tucked a lovely brown lock of hair behind her ears. She brushed imaginary crumbs off of her dress and her hands fidgeted nervously.

“It was the least I could do. Besides, I’ve been traveling with the little devils for months now, and they haven’t seen their father in more than a year. I’m happy to leave Bombur to it for a moment, if it means helping Master Baggins. After all he’s done…” She offered the king another smile and a small curtsy and made for the door again.

“Thank you, Wrenli. You will tell me if you or your family need _anything_.”

She beamed at him. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

 

* * *

 

“Bilbo.”

The lovely deep hum of Thorin’s voice reached the hobbit in his dreams, gently calling him to wakefulness. He opened his eyes to see supper laid out on a tray next to his chair, the fire from the hearth still crackling merrily.

“I am sorry to wake you, but I’m sure your belly with thank me for it by morning.”

Bilbo blinked and sat up, stretching out the kink in his back brought on from the slump he’d curled himself in to. Thorin was sitting in the chair across from him, smoking his pipe.

“Did you make this?” he managed to ask, too sleepy to keep the incredulity from his voice.

“I am the king. I make things happen. In a very real sense, I made your supper happen.” Thorin’s wry grin still managed to be very dashing.

“I see, _Gandalf_.” Bilbo responded with a grin of his own when Thorin balked at the comparison. “Have you eaten, then?”

Thorin had eaten, and reassured the hobbit that he was fine, and not to keep them up all night by dallying with his own meal.

Bilbo ate quietly and tried not to think about Thorin’s wording, as if he was waiting for Bilbo to finish so they could retire to bed _together_. He must be really tired to be hearing things like that, when it obviously was not what the dwarf meant.

Thorin puffed away quietly. Knowing that Bilbo found conversation while eating impolite, the king decided to take advantage of the opportunity to express his thanks while Bilbo was unable fight off the sentiments.

“Today was more successful than we could have hoped. It set a very good precedent for the arrival of future caravans. Nori tells me that aside from the expected challenges, he has heard no complaints or dissent. We owe much of our success to you, I hope you realize.”

With a mouthful of stew, Bilbo still managed to pin Thorin with a displeased look.

“I do believe Shire-etiquette dictates that you not speak with your mouth full of food, Master Baggins.”

The look _that_ earned him was truly fierce, but he went on. “Thank you, Bilbo. Thank you for all that you have done.”

Bilbo swallowed and pushed his food away suddenly. “Are you going to ask me to leave?”

It was obvious this was not the response Thorin had expected. “What do you mean? Why?”

Bilbo gave the inside of his cheek a fierce and quick bite to keep himself in check. He shouldn’t have asked that question. He was about to be guilty of really _having a moment_ for the sake of his own overwrought emotions and overly tired body.

He _was_ overly tired, and likely overly emotional, and he _knew_ that and suddenly even more than before, he felt the day had just been too long, and he’d worked too hard, and he had every excuse to lose his composure. In that moment, he didn’t think he could face another day where he had to ask himself the question of when he might be asked to leave. When would his usefulness run out?

“That is, I mean, is this a compulsory conversation to express your gratitude before sending me on my way? Erebor is stable enough for me to leave? Not that it is not right now - I’m not egotistical enough to believe that all of it or even _any_ of this is hinging on _me_. It’s just that eventually some family is going to need this room-”

“Bilbo-”

“-and I’m not a dwarf, I know I don’t belong here, and I haven’t tried to make a nuisance of myself though I know I have a tendency to insist on things, but I consider you all family, and-”

Thorin rose from his chair and kneeled before Bilbo, taking his much smaller hands in his. “Bilbo, stop. I am not asking you to leave. I couldn’t. No one would. Bilbo, look at me.”

The hobbit was gnawing on his lip fiercely, trying not to just lunge forward and throw his arms around Thorin’s neck and bury his face in the beautiful mane of black hair. He cleared his throat loudly and met Thorin’s gaze, praying that no tears would fall. He was being _completely_ ridiculous. The king didn’t have time for this. For him.

But Thorin’s eyes were so worried and earnest. Bilbo hadn’t seen those beautiful blue eyes at such close proximity for a long time; probably not since Thorin had recovered enough to tend himself in his own sickbed. His hands were strong and _so_ warm, and enveloped BIlbo’s completely.

“You will have a home in Erebor forever, for as long as you can stand us. No one has ever thought you should leave. I said it before, these are _your_ rooms. Unless you wish to move to another part of the mountain, these can always be your rooms. If they dissatisfy you in anyway, I will change them myself to suit your needs. Bilbo…” Thorin paused and shook his head, lowering his eyes. “Forgive me. I assumed you knew these things.”

The king was quiet for a moment before he continued, his thumbs stroking the insides of Bilbo’s tiny wrists. “It is our strongest hope that you will make Erebor your permanent home.”

The fat tears spilled from Bilbo’s eyes and he yanked his hands away from Thorin’s to bury his face in them. He hiccupped and sobbed just once before he felt Thorin pull him out of his chair into a comforting embrace.

He must have fallen asleep in Thorin’s arms that way, sobbing like a child and trembling just to be held. He did not remember any dreams when he awoke the next morning, tucked comfortably in his own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like the story so far, feed me with kudos and comments! <3


	4. Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets it into his head that it would be a good idea to be nice to Dwalin. Dwalin can't even. Thorin has a surprisingly good handle on hobbit geneology and it _does_ things to Bilbo. Obvious Dáin is obvious (and handsome).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover your cursor over Bifur's dialogue in Khuzdul to see the translation. Mobile users can find a translation at the end of the chapter. *smooch*
> 
> I've updated the tags because I think 'slow burn' applies.
> 
> A special thanks to Beta Jedi Amity. The beta-force is strong with that one.

Dáin could not be sure of when Dis had told her brother about his intentions. Regardless of Thorin’s reaction, or lack thereof, the fact of the matter was that his cousin’s behavior had changed. He was certain that Thorin’s regard for Bilbo at least matched his own. The tenderness which the king had begun to afford the hobbit was nothing short of remarkable, considering the dwarf in question. He’d had spent the majority of Bilbo’s presentation to the council the other day with a dreamlike expression on his face, smiling at his advisor as if the hobbit wasn’t explaining to the dwarves about how Smaug’s decomposing body mixed with his left over dung would make the best fertilizer available for the Desolation. Dain had never seen Thorin look like that, not even before Smaug. Some of the more ignorant dwarves had marked his behavior and chalked it up to elation at having his people returning to the mountain.

It was obvious Thorin’s Company knew better. Dáin’s suspicions were confirmed through snippets of overheard conversations as he made his way through the mountain. The miner called Bofur seemed especially jubilant about the sudden affection that had bloomed between Thorin and Bilbo, if the money purses he saw changing hands was anything to go by.

He had hoped he was wrong, but the knowledge that he was not brought with it no desire to alter his intentions. Thorin obviously hadn’t decided to challenge him, not yet anyway, and he hoped it would not come to that.

It was not how Dáin preferred to conduct himself, particularly with the dwarf he still considered to be his favorite cousin, even now. The lamentable circumstances of their lives had made it so that the two of them were in conflict more often than not. Dáin did not see his own actions at the Battle of the Five Armies as penance or repayment for the times he’d been obliged to refuse his cousin and his people aid; but it was not fair to assume that Dáin desired any less for things to have been different in their lives. Tragedy after tragedy; Smaug, the death of half the line of Durin in Azanulbizar, the loss of Thrain, the unfortunate circumstances the dwarves of Erebor found themselves living under in Ered Luin...

To have considered sending troops on some insane quest to storm Erebor with thirteen dwarves and a hobbit had never been an option for him. As a lord, Dáin knew he had done the right thing for his own people. Thorin knew well the burden of sacrificing family for the sake of his kingdom. It wasn’t done in malice, or even disagreement.

Dáin had no desire to see Thorin suffer further, and that was why he had answered his cousin’s call for help defending his mountain. It was why he had stayed in Erebor, despite the strain to his own lands this caused.

But then he had met the hobbit. He was convinced now more than ever that Bilbo Baggins was like no other he had ever encountered in his life, and there would never be another like him again.

He was _fascinating_. It could not be denied that the he was lovely to look upon, and his figure was as appealing as any  Dáin ever saw. He could demonstrate such tenderness and affection, such a capacity to care for others, and yet he had never heard a more ferocious tirade in all his years than when Bilbo had found the princes and Gimli filching a barrel of ale from the kitchens.

Who could walk away from Bilbo Baggins? Only a fool, thought Dáin. He could not stop his cousin from being a fool, but he could certainly avoid being one himself.

So at the first opportunity to be of service to his hobbit, Dáin found himself in Bilbo’s apartment that afternoon, interrupting tea with Balin to inspect the fabled mithril shirt as Bilbo had politely requested.

Balin was looking at him critically, and Dáin suspected he was summoning the diplomatic skill to speak his mind without offending the lord. He’d seen many advisors with that particular look on their face over the years.

Balin settled for speaking to Bilbo instead. “Even if you can, Bilbo, that does not mean you should.”

Bilbo scoffed as he located the thing in a chest tucked in a corner. “Really now, Balin, it _is_ for your brother. Have a heart! There is no other mithril in Erebor as far as we know, and if there is, it could take years to find it.” He handled the mail reverently for a moment, running his fingers over the decorative trim before passing it to  Dáin. “I don’t really fancy sending Dwalin all the way to Khazad-dum to fetch some, do you? And you did promise to show him how it’s done.”

“Yes, but he didn’t _ask_ you to do this, Bilbo. And if he knew, he would be against it. Not to mention what Thorin will think. That is no trifle,” Balin insisted. “If it were to be damaged in the process... “

Bilbo whirled around, the offense he’d taken at that slight written all over his face. “I think we all know I’ve done the worst thing I could possibly do, Balin.”

Balin gave him a sympathetic look, but his words were stern. “It doesn’t mean it’s worth testing the theory twice, laddie.”

“Are you contestin’ Bilbo’s ownership of it?” Dáin interrupted. “Because it seems to me that the only reason anyone should have anythin’ to say about it would be for that reason.”

“No, the shirt is Bilbo’s without a doubt, but you know as well as I that it is an heirloom to the line of Durin, and should anyone find out - ”

“What it used to be is irrelevant,” Dáin growled. “Now it is Bilbo’s property. If his heart is set on doing your brother this kindness, then I say it is a very generous thing to do. I dunnae see why anyone should try to shame him out of it.” Dáin did not appreciate the other dwarf making implications about Bilbo’s decisions. Rarely did anyone have the audacity to bring up the Arkenstone incident besides Bilbo himself, and he didn’t see why Balin thought he had the right.

“Besides,” Dáin continued, “it can be trimmed without compromising the integrity of the mail. It only loses the value of the mithril removed, and I hardly think Bilbo cares about a few links.”

“Bother the links!” Bilbo snapped. “I’m not giving the whole thing away, and if you’re so concerned about me desecrating some sacred object, I’ll merely discuss it with Thorin first.”

Then he turned his hopeful eyes on Dáin. “But you can do it? He needs enough to make two… Will you even have time for this?”

“Well now me ‘n my boys have less and less to do, what with all of Ered Luin movin' in. Time is not the issue." Dáin frowned. That had not been his plan at all. If Bilbo told Thorin, that would give _Thorin_ the opportunity to argue that he should perform the task, or even convince Bilbo not to do it at all. But he nodded reassuringly. “Aye, it can be done. But only by someone skilled in this. Thorin is a fine smith, but he’s not had the opportunity to work with mithril as often as I have-”

“Right, right,” Bilbo flapped his hand. “I promise I’ll let _you_ do it, so long as Thorin doesn’t have any strong objections. Goodness, the two of you. But I stipulate that if I have any more trouble over this, I’ll just have Balin do it!”

Balin sighed. _Let the games begin,_ he thought to himself.

 

* * *

 

Despite brushing off Balin’s concerns at the time, Bilbo found himself rather nervous bringing the whole thing up to Thorin several days later. He was sure that Thorin would understand that his intentions were good, and surely he would jump at the opportunity to help Dwalin in his endeavor. Since the caravan had arrived, it seemed nothing could dampen Thorin’s spirits, and Bilbo wanted to take advantage of that good will before it disappeared and Thorin distanced himself again.

They sat together reviewing scroll after scroll of the lease agreements Dis had successfully negotiated in Dale. There was not enough fertilizer ready yet to service all the lands they had leased, and so it was up to them to prioritize the proposed crops, and delegate certain areas to pasture until they could be fertilized the following year. It was late in the season, and they had to till the soil before it froze.

There was a steady stream of dwarves in and out of Thorin’s office for most of the day, deterring Bilbo from beginning the conversation several times.

It was nearing supper time when another knock came; this time it was Gimli with his arms full of documents. “Good evenin’ your Majesty, Lord Bilbo.”

“For Eru’s sake Gimli, I am not a lord. Master Baggins if you must, but Mister Bilbo will do.”

Gimli laughed good naturedly. “Right, I keep forgetting. It’s hard when you’ve made such a name for yourself. It’s not as if anyone would think to call the king anything other than king!”

Thorin grinned and instructed Gimli to simply leave it in a pile on a spare chair. “I’ll see to those first thing. Good work. Please let Dwalin know to have the guards turn anyone else away for the evening.”

Bilbo smiled at the energetic young dwarf as well and gave him a small wave as he left, which seemed to please Gimli very much.

Thorin snorted and muttered to himself, “I’m going to have to start beating them off you with a mace.”

Bilbo shook his head and sighed. “I told Dáin the same thing and I’ll tell you even though I’m sure you don’t need reminding - I’m not half as nice as anyone thinks I am, and I’m happy to prove it. One day everyone will see me for the mad old bachelor that I really am. I’ll be hobbling down these corridors with grey hair and a cane, snapping at anyone who disturbs my door mat.”

Thorin laughed at the absurdity of Bilbo calling himself old and the image he painted of his future self. “I do not know if I can ever consider you old, middle aged though you claim to be. You are fewer in years than my nephews, after all. It was troubling enough to bring actual juveniles on the quest. I cannot tell you of the horror I felt when I realized we were bringing a mere child with us to reclaim the mountain.”

Bilbo sniffed. “Well this child was a great deal more useful than your blasted nephews, I must say. Sending me in unprotected after trolls…. They shall be making it up to me for the rest of my days.”

“May they be long,” Thorin added, smiling, his gaze meeting Bilbo’s for just a moment.

They settled back into silence, but Bilbo couldn’t concentrate for long as he realized this was probably the best opportunity to bring up his little project.

“I have been meaning to talk to you about something,” he broke the silence, putting down his quill and pushing the scrolls away.

Thorin looked up. “Yes, I noticed you’ve tried to start a conversation several times now. You have my full attention.”

Bilbo started and stopped what he had been about to say, wondering why Thorin hadn’t said anything if he’d noticed. Continuing on, he began, “I wish to do Dwalin a favor, but I thought I should discuss the details with you first.”

Thorin sat back from his desk. He repeated, “A favor for Dwalin. That you need my permission for?”

“You see, I… It’s only that Balin warned me that perhaps I’m being a little thoughtless, and I would never wish to upset you over something you value so much. So….”

The king watched as Bilbo struggled to find his words. It was clear that whatever Bilbo wanted now, he was worried Thorin might respond as he had with the Arkenstone. That was the only thing the hobbit could have meant when he spoke of not wanting to upset Thorin over an object of value again; he was _afraid_ to upset him.

The dwarf sighed. The incident of Bilbo’s collapse had shown him the folly of neglecting his One. It was obvious that Bilbo desired his friendship, and had been hurt because Thorin had been too selfish and cowardly to give it to him. But it would take longer than a few weeks to heal the old wounds.

“Speak your mind Bilbo. You have nothing to fear from me.” _Ever again_ , he swore to himself, not for the first or last time.

Bilbo looked startled at that. “Gracious no, I should think not. I meant only that I don’t want to offend you. I’m still learning to avoid the occasional cultural faux pas, as you well know.”

Thorin’s utter relief must have shown on his face, because Bilbo made no effort to disguise the eye roll Thorin’s comment had prompted. It was just the two of them, after all.

“I have one exhaustion induced little _moment_ as you call it, and now you act as if…” Bilbo was grateful that his little collapse had prompted Thorin to open up a bit, but he was a bit tired of the past hanging over them all the time. He directed their conversation back to the topic at hand. “If I may continue? Mind you, I could only understand half the conversation since he was talking to Bifur, but what I did hear is that Nori finally agreed to allow Dwalin to present his courting gift to Ori.”

Thorin’s astonishment was immediately anchored by skepticism. “Nori did that. Nori did that for _Dwalin_.”

“It seems so. I know the two have some sort of strained history, what with Nori occasionally being on the wrong side of the law-”

Thorin snorted loudly.

“-but I refuse to believe Nori would have it in him to lie about this, or trick him. He wouldn’t do that to Ori, at least.”

Thorin nodded, supposing that was true. Stranger things in the history of Middle Earth had happened. “I see. And how do you figure in to this?”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well, you see, I think it’s a lovely idea… Dwalin was talking about how when we were in Rivendell, Ori was fascinated by the moon runes. He wants to present Ori with a pair of Ithildin pens.”

“Indeed, those would be a very fine gift. And rest assured, had I any mithril to give, I would certainly give it to Dwalin. But there is none left in the mountain.”

Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, technically, there is.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, obviously not understanding.

“I’ve been assured that just a row of links worth of it trimmed from my shirt would be enough for Dwalin to make them. And that it wouldn’t damage the shirt at all, or make it any less suitable for battle, so long as the right person was making the adjustment.”

Silence fell between them and the look on Thorin’s face was undecipherable. After a moment, Thorin said, “That shirt is yours to do with as you wish.”

He did not sound angry, but neither did he sound particularly pleased. Balin had been right.

“I see.”

“You do not _need_ my permission Bilbo. You could throw the damn thing into Mt Doom and I should not blink an eye if it was what made you happy.”

Bilbo let out a frustrated sigh. “Removing a few links for the sake of _your_ very good friend is not the same as casting it into a volcano as if I had no care for it.”

“I have no qualms with what you are doing,” Thorin reassured him evenly, or at least he tried to. “If you must know, I suppose I am angrier at myself that you felt such hesitancy to do with your things as you wish. It is a grand gift for a deserving friend, and you have my support.”

“I wasn’t _afraid_ in the sense that you’re saying, Thorin. I’m not afraid of you, and you either accept that or you don’t,” Bilbo said quietly. “Even then, I wasn’t afraid of you. I feared for you, but that is not the same thing. Truly, I did not even give a thought to your opinion on the matter until Balin implied you might be gravely offended. That was the only reason I thought to seek your approval. And what a terrible idea that was, apparently!”

“I do not know why Balin should think I would care more for an object than I do for you.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond but his voice caught in his throat. Dwarves had such a knack for using overly grand declarations that couldn’t possibly mean what they would normally mean to _normal_ people.

“W-well, I don’t know why, but I suppose he thought you’d get your small clothes in a bunch if you knew Dáin was planning to make the adjustments for me.”

“He offered to do this, or you requested it of him?” Thorin demanded, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.

Bilbo shook his head in confusion. “Allegedly you would not blink an eye at me for destroying it, but if Dáin is involved, _then_ there is a problem? Are the two of you at odds over something I don’t know about? He didn’t particularly seem happy at the prospect of you taking the job from him.”

Standing up suddenly, Thorin muttered angrily, “Is that so?”

Bilbo stood up as well, his posture defiant. “Thorin, I don’t understand what this is about, but I refuse to be involved in any conflict between the two of you. Balin has the expertise as well. I’ll have him do it.”

Thorin seemed to deflate at that. Suddenly he appeared very tired. “No. Do what you will, it is no business of mine. I care not who does the work. The result for Dwalin will be the same.”

Bilbo stood there, mystified at the rapid fire changes in mood he’d just witnessed in Thorin.

“Well that is all very well, Thorin, but I still demand to know what that was about. If there is an argument between you two, I can help-”

Thorin gave a droll laugh. Bilbo did not like that.

“Oh? Is this some private dwarf business I can’t know about, or you think I’m too stupid to help with?”

Thorin realized his mistake immediately and threw up his hands placatingly. “There is not a conflict I could ever encounter that I would not turn to you for assistance with first, Bilbo Baggins. I have merely decided, for your sake, not to _make_ this a conflict.”

Bilbo was quiet for a few seconds before he said, “That is surprisingly mature of you then.”

Thorin sighed in relief. Bilbo rolled his eyes once again at his dramatics.

“How can conclude that I’m afraid of you when you do things like _that_ and make it appear to any who might see that _I’m_ the one terrorizing _you_?”

 

* * *

 

Bifur cocked his head to the side and stared momentarily at the raven hopping up and down in front of him cawing, “Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins!”

He asked the bird for the message, but it had been delivered in Westron, and he couldn’t quite understand most of it. Something about the Shire being _sacked_?

He gave a clipped whistle and the creature hopped on his shoulder. He rushed through the mountain, trusting the bird to hold on as required as he pushed past dwarrow and nearly knocked over scaffolding as he went. He finally found a dwarf who told him he’d seen Bilbo heading down to the forges with King Thorin, Lord Balin, and Lord Dáin.

He rushed on, forgetting to thank the dwarf who’d helped him.

When he arrived, he found his king, Balin, and Master Baggins standing well clear as Dáin adjusted the fire for forge he had chosen to work in.

“He must to get the fire itself to the precise temperature before he can even heat the diamond saw,” Balin was explaining to the hobbit, as Bifur rushed to them in a blur of hair and feathers.

“Thanu men! Thanu men! Men gajamu, bahzundush!”

The raven complained and flapped his wings before he settled back down on Bifur’s shoulder to deliver his message.

“Message for Bilbo Baggins, formerly of Bag End, currently of the Lonely Mountain. From Hamfast Gamgee. _Dear Mister Bilbo! I hope you are doing well livin’ with all them dwarves in that far away mountain of yours. Thought you should know that Mrs. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has been making’ a right row over Bag End, and almost has the Thain convinced that you’ve abandoned the property. The Thain is giving’ you six more months to make an official appearance to claim your property before he auctions off all your nice things and Bag End to Mrs. Sackville-Baggins. I weren’t sure if the official letter would make it in time or at all, so I arranged for this raven to deliver the message personally. If’fn you decide never to return, I hope you won’t be offended if I make a bid on your dear mother’s old crockery. Please hurry back Mr. Bilbo. I can’t stomach the idea of paying’ that woman rent. May the hair on your toes grow ever longer._ End of the message!”

The raven took off, leaving behind several speechless dwarves and a swiftly angering hobbit.

 

* * *

 

The long dinner table groaned under the strain of a powerful strike from yet another righteously indignant fist.

“Surely they know you survived? Your story spread through Ered Luin as swift as - if we’lll excuse the term - dragon fire! Here now, even this good Hamfast fellow seemed to know to send a raven to Erebor - he wouldn’t do that if he thought you were dead! Just send a raven back with a message!” Gloin finished his tirade with another pound of his fist to the table.

After getting a similar speech and violent actions against the table from each member of Thorin’s company in response to Hamfast’s message, and adding in all the new arrivals of Gloin and Bombur’s family, and Dáin, and their reactions too, Bilbo had had plenty of time to finish his supper and make his way through most of a goblet of wine as he listened to everyone’s furor. He was pleased, and equally touched, that his friends could summon the same sense of purpose and duty regarding the retaining of his own property as they did the very first night they met in Bag End and discussed reclaiming the mountain.

Most of their opinions, however, seemed to share one common refrain. This can be handled from Erebor. No need to send a hobbit halfway across the world just for a simple bureaucratic misunderstanding.

“Not that I think that the injustice of taking your home from you should go unanswered, Mister Bilbo,” Wrenli had added kindly from further down the table, the two small dwarflings making a mess of their food in her lap not seeming to phase her, “but surely we could build you a home of equal or finer quality here? Our best architects and engineers could surely build you a splendid smial, better than you could even imagine. And Master Ori tells me the Erebor of old used to have gardens that could be made green again.”

Another wave of discussion broke out amongst the dinner gathering, and Bilbo simply looked around the table and smiled. Eventually, when it became quiet enough to speak again, he said, “I thank you all for taking the bite out of such ill news. I can hardly be angry when I have so many good friends ready to be angry on my behalf. And it warms my grouchy old heart to know that you have all thought of my comfort.”

“If it’ll keep ye from running back off into the wild, I’ll build you damn smial _tonight_. Though I’m no good with a garden, so you’re out of luck there,”  Dáin said waving his hand, his own irritation at the contents of the message not quite having abated. If he were not a lord, he and Frònka would have already been well on their way to the Shire accompanied by a few of his most intimidating looking soldiers. Who were these people to steal Bilbo’s ancestral home out from under him? Did they understand the debt owed to Bilbo Baggins by not just dwarves, but the peoples of the Rhovanion?

Bilbo shook his head, laughing. “No, no, please. After all, if I had been in possession of my own mountain when Thorin came knocking-” at this he nodded to Thorin, who was tense and brooding at the end of the table, “and simply offered to give him my spare - full of gold and jewels though this hypothetic mountain of mine may have been - I know he would still have chosen to continue to Erebor.”

The heavy air that had settled around Thorin lifted as Bilbo mentioned him, and feigning suspicion, the dwarf king arched an eyebrow and leveled those strikingly penetrating eyes at Bilbo from his seat at the head of the table. “So help me, _Burglar_ , if I find you have been keeping spare mountains from me, I will appoint you to be Kili’s personal advisor. It is a lifetime appointment.”

Bilbo laughed again and blushed under the attention and warmth of the private dining hall. He went on over Kili’s indignant blustering, “So there it is then. I must go and reclaim my own home. My father built it for my mother, you see, and it is my duty so ensure that it continues on in the Baggins line.”

“So what does _that_ mean, then?” Gimli cried. “You must return to the Shire until you start a family of your own, and your wee ones are grown enough to take it over? Will you never come back?”

Bilbo expected the whole table to break out in riotous laughter at that, but only a few chuckled nervously.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous! No, I only meant that I must return to assign a trustee to inhabit and care for Bag End until I pass away. I daresay my good cousin Drogo could use it. If he hasn’t married Primula by now, he likely will soon. And hobbits being hobbits, a family will follow not long after. Whatever I must do to keep it out of Lobelia’s hands.”

Bofur spoke up, confused. “Did I understand wrong, then? This whole time you’ve complained about ‘Mrs. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’. She’s a Baggins then, ain’t she?”

To Bilbo’s surprise, Dáin and Thorin both chuckled, though it was with very little humor.

“That she-devil hobbit is a Baggins by marriage,” Dáin muttered.

“She is married to Bilbo’s cousin Otho, whose parents were a Sackville and a Baggins each, and began a new branch of the clan when they joined in marriage,” Thorin explained as if this should be common information. “And she has finally made a formal enemy of me, forcing Bilbo to return to the Shire now to defend his home.”

Bilbo’s mouth hung open for a split second before he remembered to shut it with a snap. The hobbit couldn’t say when Thorin had ever paid enough attention to his ramblings to have retained that much about the hobbit’s family tree and insight into his less-than-pleasant relationship with Lobelia. Complaining about relatives was a default topic of conversation for Bilbo; something to fill in the otherwise long and silent hours of reviewing reports and scrolls and going through old manuscripts.

Bofur recognized the name and knew she was a Baggins - that alone was enough to impress Bilbo. That Dáin knew she married into the family was a credit to Dáin’s attentiveness as well.

To be able to trace the lineage two generations back was…. It reminded Bilbo strongly of the courtship tradition back home; the suitor will use the opportunity of a family gathering to recite several generations of his intended’s family tree as a sign of respect to the family, as well as a demonstration of a baseline level of intelligence. Typically that sort of thing required a lot of study, as hobbit families could be very complicated.

If this were any _other_ stunningly attractive dwarf reciting Bilbo’s family tree to him in any other circumstances, he would have said Thorin was trying to woo him. At least, that was what any self respecting suitor _should_ do when they were courting. If they were in the Shire. And both hobbits. And -

Where in the hell had his mind gotten to?

“Can’t you send a representative in your stead?” Dáin insisted.

“I… um... “ Bilbo quickly pulled himself together. “I’ll have enough trouble as it is convincing Lobelia that I’m really myself. There is not a document that could be made that would be official enough to stand in my absence. That may perhaps be true even if I go myself, but I shall have some leverage with the Thain. We’re both grandsons of the Great Took, and I’ve no doubt that they shall have no choice but to satisfy my requirements if I am there in person.”

No one had much of anything to say to that. But then Balin brought up the subject of when Bilbo should depart, and with whom, and what route he should take. This kept many of them up late into the night, long after Bilbo had gone to bed.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo tried to refuse discussing potential traveling companions with anyone other than Balin, except to immediately rule out Thorin or Dáin as candidates. Bilbo had been smart enough to corner each of them in a moment of privacy - that is to say, away from each other. Their half-shouted speeches-bordering-on-tantrums went on for such an unfortunately long time in both cases. Bilbo didn’t think he could have handled them having fits in the same room at the same time.

Bilbo liked to fancy Dáin was right about him in one way - on certain things, he had a spine of mithril. He would not hear of either dwarf abandoning their duties during such a critical time for Erebor just to flit off with a hobbit to the Shire for the summer.

Bilbo reminded him of this as they shared a pipe on the battlements one evening not a few days after that dinner. This time, Bilbo made no efforts to brush Dáin off, or keep his personal space. As cold as it was outside, he wasn’t about to admit that he was standing just a tad too close for what was considered polite, but the warmth radiating off the large dwarf kept Bilbo from turning into a hobbit-sicle.

“In truth, I would love nothing more than to host all of you in Bag End for the summer. The first time around I was a bit unprepared, and a completely different hobbit, even. I’m sure even you wouldn’t have taken too kindly to me then.”

Dáin scoffed but Bilbo paid him no mind, and fought the urge to simply lean in to the warmth next to him. The hobbit was _very_ sure  Dáin wouldn’t mind. Bilbo wasn’t entirely dense - he’d finally picked up on Dáin’s attraction to him, and it wasn’t just curiosity or a desire for friendship. Bilbo just wasn’t sure what to do with it. Dwarves were so very different from hobbits in these matters. Bilbo appreciated that Dáin hadn’t pressed him yet - he had his own still tender heart to deal with, and Bilbo wondered more than once if Dáin knew that.

Thorin’s... recommitment to their friendship (was the best way Bilbo could describe it) made it harder than ever to know what he himself was feeling, let alone control it. Sometimes he had to remind himself that he didn’t have to work so hard to repress everything. They were safe from orcs and dragons. He wasn’t even in the Shire anymore and he didn’t have nosy neighbors poking into his business and judging him.

“Well, now, how many dwarves would that be at once? All of the company, or course, and you know Gimli won’t be left behind. And there’s me.”

“Of course we’d also spend half of Erebor’s fortune keeping Bombur and his brood fed. It would be the first time Bag End was properly filled though… What a sight that would be. And you should see it in the summer, Dáin. Even Rivendell does not hold a candle to the Shire in the summer. Fauntlings will swarm the hillsides running amok, making mischief wherever they can. Beautiful mornings filled with breakfast and bird song; hot, lazy afternoons meant to be dozed away in the shade; warm, peaceful summer evenings when the air was thick with the aroma of fresh grass, or hot pies, or occasionally the thick smell of a thunderstorm…”

Bilbo’s mind was miles and miles away, past Mirkwood and over the Misty Mountains, back on his bench on a summer evening smoking his pipe.

“Beautiful…”

Bilbo nodded. “It is. You shall have to see it someday.”

Dáin looked down at him and shook his head. “I am sure it is, but I wasn’t talking about that.” Before Bilbo could become too flustered, Dáin went on, “You’re sure you will not let me send a few of my dwarves with you?”

“Dáin, they are so far from home already. I would not have them go any further on my behalf. Those from the Blue Mountains will have a better understanding of the terrain having traveled through the area already.”

Dáin had only nodded then, uncharacteristically quiet.

Bilbo hadn’t been sure what else to say - he simply did not want to travel with a stranger. Dáin  _himself_ was no longer a stranger, and had he not had his own very important role to play before he had to return to his own lands, Bilbo would have leapt at the chance to travel with him. Now that he knew him better, he found that the dwarf shared the same affable energy of Gloin and Gimli and Bofur. He was handsome to boot, although handsome faces hadn’t exactly helped on the first journey, and had in fact left him a miserable, frustrated mess most of the time.

Besides, he shuddered to think of Dáin’s dreaded battle sow upturning gardens on Bagshot Row. Frònka would be the death of Hamfast. But Bilbo did not say as much.

“You are needed in Erebor. I know your duties right now are dwindling, but turning the Desolation into arable land will take every dwarf we have. They will need you and your soldiers while I am gone.”

“Tis a good thing my son rules with a steady hand in my absence, for you know I cannae leave Erebor until I know you’ve returned safe.”

Dáin was sporting that ridiculous Durin stare-of-affection, as Bilbo called it, and he seemed to have no qualms about turning it on Bilbo as frequently as the dwarf pleased. Bilbo had certainly seen the expression plenty - Kili for his elves, Dis for her children, and once or twice, Thorin for himself.

“Ridiculous dwarf,” was all Bilbo said.

 

* * *

 

The sons of Fundin shared a large apartment that did not exist on any blueprint. It was one of several sets of hidden chambers placed strategically around and within the opulent royal wing, most of which had been left entirely untouched by Smaug. Dwalin didn’t think that even after things were more settled he would want to move, or build his own home as others were planning. These were finely outfitted, with all the comforts they could want and more.

He didn’t think even Dori could argue with the quality of these rooms. Well, Dori could argue with anything. He supposed the question was whether or not Ori would like them, if the courtship even got as far as that discussion.

“You have no idea the trouble he’s gone through, brother. I expect your words to reflect the magnanimity of his gift. He was so determined to do this yet almost forced Thorin to come in his stead. And you know him, he does not care about the value of the gift in terms of money-”

“I’m 169 years old. I know how te use my manners, Balin. Ye didn’t raise a complete savage.”

Dwalin frowned at his elder as they waited patiently for Bilbo to arrive. All Bilbo had mentioned was that he had something to bring Dwalin, and perhaps they could share tea with Balin that morning so Bilbo could drop it by.

His older brother had not completely revealed Bilbo’s purpose, but he took it upon himself to impress the gravity of the exchange to Dwalin as much as he could without completely spilling the beans. Perhaps it was some hobbit tradition.

Dwalin could see that Balin cared for Bilbo very much. Whether the hobbit knew it or not, Balin had been working hard from day one to see to it that Bilbo was treated fairly as much as possible. Inter-species interactions did not come naturally or easy for dwarves, and it was up to those like his brother to make sure that when paths crossed, swords did not. When swords did cross, that was when Dwalin took over.

Bilbo had flat out refused to participate in training with warrior dwarf when he’d offered, instead opting for Fili’s mentorship. Little did the hobbit know, Dwalin, in fact, had a bit of a soft spot for small creatures, and would have proved the gentler teacher in the end. Having been the one to train Fili himself, Dwalin knew the prince had a bit of a mean streak, the golden heir being a seasoned, tormenting older brother. This intense tutelage was probably why Bilbo continued to do so well in hand-to-hand combat, as Bilbo was an only child, and obviously too stubborn to give up.

Whatever the reason for this meeting, it had his brother excited. That he could tell just by looking at him.

Balin almost leapt from his chair as a small knock came at the door, and hurried to open it as much as his dignity would allow.

“Laddie! Come in, come in.”

 

Dwalin eyed the little box Bilbo had finally placed in front of him suspiciously, wondering what in Middle Earth could possibly be in there. What could Thorin’s little hobbit possibly have brought him? And why? Dwalin hadn’t seen Bilbo going through great pains to deliver gifts to anyone else. What exactly could Bilbo want from him?

He looked once more at Balin and Bilbo, who had almost tipped off their seats they were leaning forward so far.

With an impatient huff, Dwalin unhinged the tiny thing and peered at the contents.

“Huh,” he said. He scratched at his beard and peered closer. “Ye’ve given me several… broken iron links.” A moment’s pause and he went on, “This is what I’d give a dwarf if I were a hobbit, I suppose.” He chosen his words with great care, hopefully giving the odd trinkets the proper acknowledgement the occasion (whatever that was) dictated.

Bilbo laughed, and Balin just gaped at him.

“What?” he asked.

Bilbo continued to laugh, and Balin shook his head, trying his best to seem appalled, but obviously too amused to find much success.

Dwalin looked again at the broken, twisted and slightly melted looking links. Then he looked again at his brother, and the giggling little man next to him. “I know I said I’d use my manners, but I don’t take well to bein’ laughed at by all three feet of a hobbit for too long.”

Bilbo settled down and wiped a stray tear from his eye, explaining, “My dear Dwalin, you are looking at enough mithril to make Ori those Ithilden pens you wanted.”

Dwalin snatched the box and was out of his chair quickly, taking two long strides over to the hearth to view it in better light. “Ye cannae be serious…”

After a few moments inspecting the links, Dwalin looked back to Balin, seeking reassurance that this was not some terrible joke.

“Thorin agreed that if Bilbo wanted to, then he had his blessing. Dáin did the actual cutting-”

“Tell me we did not just destroy a priceless artifact of this mountain-”

“No, no, no of course not!” Bilbo cut in, reassuring him. “Dáin is skilled in mithril work. If you wish to see that the shirt is unharmed, I am happy to show you. In fact, it needed adjusting, and this was too convenient an excuse.”

Dwalin looked again at the contents of the box, the reality of the gift beginning to set in. No wonder Balin had been trying to warn him.

He cleared his throat a few times, trying to think of what to say.

“And… and Balin assured me he can guide you in the process of forging them.” Bilbo added quietly, “I hope I haven’t been presumptuous.”

Dwalin closed the box with a snap and set it on the mantlepiece. He returned to his seat between Bilbo and Balin.

They were both looking for him to say something.

Finally, after what must have been a somewhat uncomfortable silence, Dwalin spoke. “I don’t-” And he stopped.

Then he cleared his throat. “There aren’t-”

He stopped again, sighing to himself and rolling his eyes. When he tried to speak again, he made a strange hiccuping sound that Bilbo had never heard from the dwarf before, and suddenly Dwalin was standing again and stomping off to his room, muttering and growling to himself and shaking his baldhead.

Bilbo looked to Balin in panic, who was grinning despite the obvious displeasure Dwalin had just displayed.

“I didn’t think it was possible he might _not_ want them. I was sure of what I heard that night! Well, he certainly isn’t obliged to accept the gift, Balin. Perhaps Fili and Kili would like some new beads-”

“Bilbo,” Balin gave him the same look he’d given the hobbit when he came running after them with a contract waving in his hand. “My brother has, in fact, lost his composure. Not because he is displeased with your gift. Quite the opposite. Quite the opposite indeed, ho ho!” Balin chuckled merrily and slapped his knee. “He can’t handle folks being affectionate with him, if you couldn’t tell already. Makes me wonder how he’ll fare with Ori, the lad being such a tender soul. Worry not, my friend. He only left the room to keep from losing his dignity if front of us.”

A scolding bark in Khuzdul came from the other room, accompanied by the rattling of the door in the door frame. Balin just chuckled again.

 

* * *

 

 

Per http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Shire_Calendar, Lithe months refer to Forelithe and Afterlithe, approximately 22nd of May to 23rd of July.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Bifur's line: My king! My king! I am sorry - raven! 
> 
> That's my own personal brand of Khuzdul bastardization, so if you have a better idea of what that would actually be and want to share your brain smarts, shoot me a message or leave a comment.
> 
> Also just leave a comment (or kudos) whether or not you know Khuzdul, because I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)


	5. Fighting Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dáin wants Thorin to meet him by the flag pole after school. Kili flips his shit.
> 
> Also, Don't. Touch. Ori. Dwalin don't wike it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my gratitude to Amity the beta-bee. This was a hefty chapter with a lot of issues. 
> 
> I’m taking one major liberty with the various Middle Earth calendars. Durin’s Day for the purpose of this story will fall between Christmas and New Years, and holiday-wise will serve as both Yule and New Years in the story.
> 
> Happy Dáin2k15! Thanks very much to the Dáin II Ironfoot Appreciation Society on tumblr. 
> 
> Art for this chapter commissioned from tosquinha (look up her excellent work on tumblr).

The Greenwood in the winter was certainly charming, Bilbo had to admit, although it was no Brandywine Hall at Yuletide. He welcomed the change in scenery nonetheless; it seemed the image of his own mud soaked feet was all he’d seen after weeks of tilling the Desolation, but it was done and what portion of the fertilizer was ready had been distributed. It had proven to be a particularly frustrating effort for Bilbo, since he would not see the green that would come of it all (and it had been cold, unpleasant work, even with a host of dwarves at his command).

It was a somewhat unnatural and jarring feeling to know he would not be there to cultivate and witness the growth. He was sure the harvest would be successful and rewarding, but the tender care of the plant from seed to fruit was, for Bilbo anyway, most of the point. It must have been a distinctly hobbit-ish feeling, since any time he’d tried to explain it to a dwarf, he was given only politely confused looks. As a result, he’d begun to miss Bag End quite fiercely and he longed for a _pleasant_ distraction (since he seemed to have plenty of the tedious and _un_ pleasant kind). It was silly, given that the scenery in the Shire wouldn’t have been that much greener. Or perhaps he was just being too generous with the muddy and mutilated landscape the Desolation had temporarily become.

In any case, the sight of vibrant green and red holly bushes and white mistletoe that seemed to have sprouted from every crevice was enough to truly comfort him and remind him of the upcoming Yule celebrations. He had needed to point out at the beginning of this visit, however, that there were no fires lit. Dwarves were hardy, and the magic imbued in elves allowed them to be unaffected by the elements, but hobbits, in fact, needed warmth to survive.

Thranduil had called for every hearth to be lit, and provided Bilbo with extra layers.

Thorin scoffed at this inattention to detail, but for Bilbo’s sake, did not actually voice his opinion. That had been the deal if he was to accompany them, after all. Thorin had offered little explanation for his insistence on joining them for this visit. Perhaps he needed to prove that he could succeed where Dáin had failed. Bilbo could only guess. He finally relented under the condition Thorin would formally swear to do or say nothing that would get them ejected from Mirkwood again.

“I’m not sure how to take this,” Thranduil’s supercilious disdain for the situation bordered on whining. “I’ve begun to suspect you’re bringing obnoxious dwarves with you on purpose in order to avoid your duty.”

Bilbo sipped his hot mulled wine delicately as he burrowed further into the obscenely cozy and plush robe he’d been given, ignoring the grunting sounds coming from the other side of the antechamber they occupied. “One day I shall be dead, and there will be no more hobbits to stand between the Greenwood and Erebor. Just look at this as an exercise in diplomatic relations.”

Thranduil delicately rested his temple against knuckles, a slight crease in his brow. “This is worse than last time, and I did not think that was possible. _That_ buffoon at least had the decency to make himself scarce in my presence. _This_ fool won’t get further than two steps away from you. This is most distressing.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at Thranduil, and looked pointedly from the pitcher of wine to his nearly empty cup. “You can certainly keep informing me of your displeasure like a fussy fauntling, or you can try and distract yourself as best you can. That is what _I_ have chosen to do.”

There was a loud bang and a curse; Bilbo didn’t even flinch as he inhaled the lovely aroma of the spices coming from his cup. The elf king made a sound that was close to a snort, but Bilbo supposed since this was Thranduil, it could not have actually been a snort. Certainly not. The put-upon king refilled his glass and muttered, “You at least did not have to bring them _both_. Is Erebor so boring that it can spare it’s king _and_ second heir?”

“Next time I shall just return with the whole company,” Bilbo shot back.

“If you wish to have them all locked up in the dungeons again, then by all means, be my guest,” Thranduil said cooly.

“Well at least we know we wouldn’t have any trouble getting out,” Thorin spat from across the room, his grunts becoming more labored. Kili looked torn between cheering for his uncle or Tauriel. However, the young prince was simply excited that his uncle was interacting with Tauriel at all. For his uncle’s taunt, the prince gave him a quiet cheer and an encouraging punch on the shoulder. Kili wasn’t entirely comfortable attracting Thranduil’s ire just yet.

“Just get it over with, Tauriel,” Thranduil snapped, and the red headed elf nodded. Thorin swore loudly as she doubled her efforts with no outward strain, slammed his arm down on the table with a crack, and won the arm wrestling match. Thorin roared his indignation while Kili gave in and crowed with laughter.

“I should not have expected an elf to compete with honor!” Thorin snarled, stomping back over to join Bilbo.

“Don’t bring your poor sportsmanship over here,” Bilbo warned, his nerves already shot and patience withering. “You should congratulate your opponent and accept your loss with dignity. Even a hobbit knows that.” Thorin crossed his arms over his chest defiantly and muttered in Khuzdul, making no move to do as Bilbo suggested. The hobbit sighed and Thranduil watched it all happen with the same odd, detached air he usually did.

Kili and Tauriel took advantage of the moment to make their escape. No doubt off to track down the elf prince. Bilbo wished he could join them.

“I hear from my son that you are to return to the Shire in the spring,” Thranduil began, his grandiose manner never relenting. He completely ignored Thorin’s presence, which seemed to be fine with Thorin.

Bilbo didn’t bother to stop the heavy sigh from escaping him. “Yes, it is true.”

“You will be returning.”

“Of course,” Bilbo responded, irritated at having this conversation _again_. “I imagine I won’t return until the beginning or middle of autumn next year. Just in time for harvest, in fact.”

“Who shall attend your duties here in your absence?” It took all of Bilbo’s self control not to laugh outright at that. He did not doubt that his presence in the Greenwood _had_ made for an improvement in relations between the two kingdoms, but it was laughable that all it took for that to happen was for Bilbo to be lent out as Thranduil’s kept pet once a month. What poor creature would have to take over for him in his absence, and brave the long nights drinking wine and listen to the elf compose high minded poetry? It was unlikely that Bilbo could even offer a replacement that Thranduil would tolerate. Bilbo was about to suggest flippantly that he seek the company of the king of Dale while he was gone, but Thorin suddenly spoke up.

“My sister, Dis, will act as Bilbo’s replacement.” Slowly, Bilbo turned his head to look at the dwarf that had obviously just lost his damn mind.

“Oh?” was all the hobbit said. Thorin swallowed. Bilbo did not need to tell him that they would have words about this later.

“And who shall accompany you on this perilous journey? You shall travel through the wood, of course, and we will see you safely to the edge of the Misty Mountains,” Thranduil continued on, as if Thorin hadn’t even spoken.

Bilbo’s settled himself comfortably again. “I have not yet decided - it is a contentious matter at the moment.”

“Why would that be?” the elf king asked, feigning innocent curiosity.

“Dwarves do not give up what we love so easily,” Thorin interjected, his voice nearly a growl. “As such, competition to win a place as his traveling companion has been considerable.”

Thranduil smiled suddenly at Thorin, and it was not a kind smile. “You must be so terribly frustrated. I assume the destructive dwarf and his pig must also stay behind.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the infantile behavior. Next to him, however, Thorin had gone noticeably stiff. “I do not see how these details concern _you_.”

“The safety and contentment of Bilbo Baggins concerns me very much, dwarf,” Thranduil sneered. “My son and Tauriel will accompany you,” he nodded graciously at Bilbo, as if he had just done him some great service.

“Beg your pardon,” Bilbo snapped as if Thranduil were no more than a mouthy hobbit tween. “I am pleased to take your recommendations, but in the end, that is all they are - recommendations. The decision is mine to make. By Eru if I have any more trouble over this I’ll just disappear in the spring and make the journey alone! And don’t tell me I can’t do it because you both know I can.”

This began another three way argument where Thorin and Thranduil argued with each other through Bilbo. All in all, it ended up being a very long night and a very long week for the poor hobbit in the Greenwood.

 

 

* * *

 

“I hate that.”

Thorin paid Dáin no mind and continued with Bofur’s progress report of the west mines.

“That,” Dáin reiterated. “I know we’ve both lived more than our fair share in this life, but I dunnae like that. You look like an elf. Only an elf schools their expression like that.”

Thorin finally scowled, setting down his quill. “I have given you my answer and you are purposely trying to test my patience.”

“Maybe,” Dáin shrugged. “I reckon I’d enjoy seeing _any_ reaction out you.”

“So you challenge me to combat, and instead of preparing yourself for the match ahead, you sit and wait keenly to see me lose my temper.”

“I am waiting to see some glimpse of the dwarf I once knew,” Dáin corrected him.

Thorin merely stood and left his room, shaking his head and sighing. Dáin followed him wordlessly to Dis’ sitting room. This was where the more amply stocked liquor cabinet was, and it seemed Thorin was intent on having a drink just then. He poured one for his cousin as well.

They sat across from each other next to the fire. Dáin waited.

Finally, after finishing one drink and well on his way through another, Thorin spoke. “I have made no declaration.”

Dáin smirked. “As if such a thing were necessary.”

Thorin sighed, nodding in agreement. It was already common knowledge at least among his family and the company, and that was more than enough.

“You know,” Dáin said, “I dunnae understand why you’ve gone out of your way to put yourself at such a disadvantage.”

“I never meant to pursue him, so I cared little for positioning myself favorably.”

Dáin nodded, supposing that made sense in Thorin’s own idiotic way. “I did not imagine I would be torn between making him mine and making you get over yourself. Not that the two are mutually exclusive,” he ran his hand through his beard, lingering over the beads given to him by his son and departed wife. “Somethin’ just dunnae sit right proceeding without trying to convince you to stop being an arse.”

Thorin snorted. “I do not need any favors.”

“Nor I. So stop your belly-achin’. It’s offensive. Do I need to bring him into this? Do I need to tell you, of all people, that you dishonor him carryin’ on as you are?”

Thorin’s grip on his glass tightened. “Since you asked, no. You don’t need to bring him into this.”

Dáin sighed. They were quiet again for sometime. Thorin stared at his drink. Dáin stared at the fire. Thorin finished a third glass and got up to leave.

“Do you remember that summer when Dis got the pox?” Dáin asked, pulling out his pipe.

Thorin paused. “That was Frerin. Dis wasn’t born yet. And I am unlikely ever to forget... _Amad_ panicked. It was my first trip away from Erebor.” Thorin realized it had been his _only_ trip away from Erebor before Smaug.

“Aye.”

“I am surprised you remember it. You could not have been more than a babe.”

Dáin chuckled. “Maybe to you, I was. I suppose I had barely sprouted any fuzz on my chin. But I remember it, nonetheless.”

Thorin grinned suddenly. “I’ll bet you remember that-”

“Rock to my head?” Dáin finished for him. “Now, see _that_ I don’t clearly recollect. What I _do_ recall was _adad_ hollering and running after your sorry arse.”

Thorin laughed and slowly sat back down. “How could I forget old Nain coming at me brandishing an iron goblet? Your mother was screaming at your father not to kill the heir to the line of Durin. You think the labor he assigned me was punishing, but you were not here when I got back, cousin. Mother had arranged for me to maintenance to plumbing line.”

“I believe that, and I don’t feel sorry for you,” Dáin paused to light his pipe, which he then passed to his cousin. “That story follows me to this day, though I daresay at least one of my tutors thought I was a bit touched and went easier on me for it. I threw a _pebble_ at you, Thorin. A _pebble_ , and let’s no’ forget you yourself just admitted I was but a babe.”

“But you admit that you started it.”

Dáin could not argue with that.

 

* * *

 

Ori and Bilbo sat together in the library with twigs and branches and other green things strewn across the large table they had appropriated. It was a small mercy that only a few of the dwarves who had arrived with the first caravan were strictly considered scholars; it left the room mercifully empty most of the time.

They were tying strings carefully around the bunches of seasonal greenery. Bilbo was used to a wider variety of things to work with, but these were turning out reasonably well. It had been a bloody business, literally, until Ori had produced a set of knitted gloves for each of them that helped protect their hands from the sharp thorns of the holly leaves. Ori had a good eye for aesthetics, and he’d already produced two very lovely pieces he planned to give to his brothers.

“I must make something for Prince Legolas and Tauriel; perhaps a basket of scones for delivering all this lovely foliage. Will you make one for Dwalin?” Bilbo asked, doing his best to avoid speaking about business during his leisure time. Ori’s ears went a little red, but Bilbo could tell he was pleased for a chance to talk about the older dwarf.

“I’m not sure. I don’t really care if Nori and Dori like them, they probably won’t. I’ll give them anyway because I love them. But I want Dwalin to sincerely enjoy any gift that I give him.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I’m afraid to say that you’ll have a hard time knowing if Dwalin likes a gift from you or not. His response is the same whether he’s pleased or angry.”

Ori laughed. “Yes, Balin gave a faithful account of that story. He suspected Dwalin actually shed tears. It was really kind.”

“Oh yes, I’ve always suspected, or at least _hoped_ there was a bit of a soft side to Dwalin-”

“No, I meant _you_. What you did for us. For Dwalin. He was so happy, Bilbo. I could see how proud he was when he presented them to me.” Ori sighed, fidgeting with the bundle of spruce. “He thinks I am too good for him. He could have come to me empty handed and it wouldn’t have made a difference to me, but your generosity allowed him to present his courting gift to me with his head held high. It didn’t matter if Dori had turned his nose up. You did that for him, for us. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Bilbo deflected the praise as he usually did. “Well now, it all worked out for the best. I trust you can keep from telling Balin since he’ll have a heart attack, but I’m pondering the idea of removing a few more rows of links from the shirt. It is still a bit big for me in the sleeves, and it would be fun to make beads for everyone to give out on my name day next year…” he trailed off, wondering if Thorin would mind if he really _did_ just tear the thing apart to make objects of beauty and culture instead of war.

“Yes, I suppose it would be too short notice to try and tackle a project like that before Durin’s Day.”

“Why would I need to do it before then?”

“For gift giving of course! Last year was no good, obviously. Traditionally though, we give gifts and celebrate on that day - it is also our Yule celebration.”

Bilbo sat up. “Why hasn’t anyone said anything?”

Ori stuttered that he didn’t know, and it had the Baggins in Bilbo so excited that he stood up and hurried right out of the library, abandoning a patiently amused Ori. He had to find Dis or Thorin immediately and inquire as to what preparations had already been made for the feast they would have, and music that would be played, and guests they should invite.

Each dwarf he passed said they’d seen the king heading to a different room, and when he got there each time he was directed somewhere else, until at last he found them in the barracks.

At first he thought something must be wrong, as the cavernous room was simply filled wall to wall (except for the ring in the middle of the room where only Dáin, Thorin and Fili stood) with dwarves. It seemed as if almost every dwarf in the mountain had tried to pack themselves in.

Through the crowds he could just make out Dis as she stood outside the circle, and from the front door Bilbo could just catch a glance of her tight expression. He didn’t relish the idea of actually going in the room - it was stifling in there, and his scarf and long sleeves would have him sweating profusely after very long.

His curiosity was getting the better of him, however, and he was about to start pushing his way through though when a hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t suppose you’ve come to place a bet as well?” It was Nori, and if Bilbo didn’t know any better he would say that dwarf looked, well, _caught_.

“What on Middle Earth is going on Nori?” Bilbo asked, completely bewildered.

“I thought you were in the library with Ori, making flowers hats or something,” the former thief said, his eyes scanning the room distractedly. Bilbo glared. Nori was doing a good job of not looking nervous, though Bilbo was starting to suspect he should be.

“Nori, you had better give it up now. I am almost certain that if I don’t know what’s going on, neither does Dori. But he’s about to find out.”

“Now, now, Master Baggins,” Nori admonished. “You wouldn’t do such a thing to a fellow burglar, would you?”

Bilbo sniffed at that. “You made a clear distinction between your own profession and mine, once upon a time. Funny how you’ve seemed to change your mind. But in any case yes I would!” Bilbo stomped his foot impatiently. They were starting to draw the attention of the dwarves around them. “What is going on?”

Nori cleared his throat. “It’s just an exhibition match between the blue bloods. Just a bit of entertainment.”

“I’m assuming you don’t mean conkers,” Bilbo said, his stomach sinking.

“It’s not like you can stop it now. At least come find a good place to watch with me,” Nori consoled him, and led Bilbo reluctantly through the crowds. He did not exactly want to see this, but he thought he ought to be on hand if things got rowdy. Thorin and Fili were hale now, and Thorin would likely swallow his crown before he harmed his nephew.

Finally they reached Dis, who was none too pleased to see Bilbo there.

“Nori, what-”

“He wandered here on his own, princess.”

She huffed, and Bilbo tried not to be offended as he wondered why this was being kept a secret.

“Should I not be here? Is it a tradition, or-”

Dis waved him off. “Of course not, Bilbo dear. I just didn’t want to encourage those two to hurt each other anymore than they inevitably will,” she nodded to the dwarves in the ring.

“You don’t really think Thorin could seriously hurt Fili? It’s just an exhibition match after all.”

Dis frowned. “Thorin isn’t sparring with Fili, he’s sparring with Dáin.”

A shout went up and the room went as quiet as a room full of rowdy dwarves was likely to get. Bilbo didn’t have time to register his own confusion at her comments. He could see Fili sharing a few more words with his uncle and cousin before stepping forward to face the congregation. The short speech he gave was in Khuzdul, and when he was done, the room erupted with cheers and shouts and stomps. The poor hobbit thought he ears might come right off.

Fili circled the outside of the ring as Dáin and Thorin circled each other.

They had removed their tunics and were incredibly naked by hobbit standards. Stars, didn’t _that_ just cause poor Bilbo’s cheeks to heat even further than they already had. The last time he’d seen any of the company in a state of undress was after the battle as he helped to tend wounds. It hadn’t exactly been the best time to bask in the glory of all that exposed flesh.

Now wasn’t a particularly good time either.

He hastily tugged off his scarf and stashed it in the pocket of his outer tunic, then he rolled up his sleeves. These dwarves would be the death of him.

“Why are we doing this again?” Bilbo said loudly, trying to be heard over the shouting and hollering of the audience.

Dis leaned over to speak in Bilbo’s ear. “Contests of strength are common for dwarves. We are a warrior race, after all. There were exhibition matches every week in Ered Luin.”

“Every week?” Bilbo said weakly. “All this commotion every week? What will happen when the mountain is full?”

Dis seemed unphased by this. “Not all matches will draw this much attention. Sometimes it is an audience of no more than a few other dwarves. As this is our king and the lord of another dwarf kingdom, it is natural that this match would draw attention. Even so, it was organized very suddenly, and I do wonder how the word spread so quickly.”

 

 

Bilbo stopped listening when Dáin made an abrupt move forward to tangle Thorin into his grip. Much to his surprise, and thanks likely to all his combat training with Fili, the hobbit found himself very much drawn into the match when it came down to it, which helped distract him from feeling overheated and crowded.

Dáin had grown tired of the circling, as the sideways movement was made slightly awkward with his iron leg. Both dwarves brought up their guard, adopting almost identical positions with their fists high and their forearms blocking their upper chests. Dáin closed in, and Thorin skirted back.

Bilbo’s own footwork was quite impressive, despite his large (or in his opinion, _normal_ ) sized feet. Hobbits were skilled at evading detection and capture, after all. It was a constant source of amazement for his instructor, who at this moment was watching his elders intently. Bilbo was glad to know that pragmatic individuals like the prince and Dis were present to keep things from tip toeing towards mayhem.

Thorin opted for bobbing in and out, throwing the first few jabs that only barely connected. Not that they were meant to do more than that, Bilbo knew. The king was warming up and trying to shake Dáin off him. It was ridiculous, Bilbo thought to himself, but somehow Thorin was making such uninhibited athletic movement appear very… attractive. He looked so much younger, all of the sudden. So very strong, and so very alive.

Bilbo tried to focus on the fight. Dáin did have the advantage of size; in height as well as considerable bulk. Thorin would need a few more years of the hobbit meal plan before he would even begin to match Dáin for weight. One powerful strike from the lord of the Iron Hills to Thorin’s torso or hip, unadorned by armor as they were, would likely cause serious injury.

Bilbo’s interest in the actual fight began to ebb as he realized that this was probably a very foolish idea. Why would they even risk Thorin sustaining an injury after he’d only been truly well a scant couple of months?

As if she could tell what he was thinking, Dis leaned down again and said in his ear, “If we do not support the healing of the warrior in him, we cannot expect that he will ever make a full recovery. Fili will let no harm come to him. I promise.” She smiled at him reassuringly.

Bilbo chewed on his lip and nodded. Of course violence would be therapeutic to dwarves. How silly that such a thought should never occur to him. He supposed Oin must have given his consent to this (at least he hoped that was the case), so he’d just have to trust that Thorin knew what he was doing.

It seemed he did, in fact. Dáin may have been affecting nonchalance, chuckling as he was forced to follow his cousin around the ring. Soon, however, he was growling.

Thorin ducked just as Dáin was about to land a devastating blow to his temple. Crouching under the other dwarf’s wide swing, he delivered two quick (but effective) punches to Dáin’s solar plexus.

To his immense credit, Dáin only stumbled for a moment before trying to right himself. Anyone else would likely have revisted their lunch. That moment, however, was the opening Thorin need. While he was still stumbling back, Thorin kicked his cousin’s foot out from under him and bore him down in a tackle.

Bilbo’s lip was raw now, his whole body tensed and leaning forward. He’d clasped his hands together and rested his chin atop them, otherwise he continuously clenched them. The two dwarves rolled and growled and snarled. The kicked and punched at each other, and it was altogether very uncivilized. And sweaty.

For a terrifying moment, Dáin wrapped his formidable arm around Thorin’s neck. Bilbo didn’t exactly see what it was Thorin did then to get Dáin to release him, but the red headed dwarf howled and loosened his grip enough for Thorin to struggle free.

It was over in seconds after that. Thorin wrenched Dáin’s arm back and pinned it behind him, draping his own body across Dáin’s back to keep him secured. He cinched Dáin’s elbow up higher and higher until Dáin used his free hand to tap out.

Bilbo had never seen such an unreservedly triumphant expression on the dwarf’s face when blue eyes locked with brown through the chaos that erupted from the crowd.

 

* * *

 

After two more rounds, Fili announced his decision.

“A draw,” Dáin and Thorin said together.

The crowd hissed their displeasure.

“Yes,” Fili said, matter-of-factly. “A draw. Fair is fair. That is my call.”

“But ye cannae argue that he _went down_ -”

“I clearly earned that last point-”

“He even tapped the damn floor!”

“I did not-”

Bilbo stood well back from the three monarchs, observing them from the ringside, relief and cool air washing over him as the audience filed out. Bilbo hadn’t realized until well into the match that he had, perhaps, become a little too interested in the scene before him. He’d found himself paying more attention to the sweat glistening on thick muscle, indulging his imagination as his eyes followed the contrast of blue ink on bronze skin instead of paying attention to the footwork. He wasn’t sure what kind of fool he’d make of himself if he stood too close to them now.

Bilbo saw Dáin throw his hands up and mutter angrily before turning around to make his way towards him. Thorin followed right behind. Panicking, the hobbit turned on his heel and forced his way in to the crowds, hoping to lose them at least until he could return to his apartments and… collect himself.

 

* * *

 

“First match in Erebor in over 170 years and that brat calls a draw,” he muttered. “At least the clever little git didn’t favor his uncle.”

I heard that!” Fili and Thorin shouted simultaneously from Thorin’s personal office (which was different from his formal office, which was outside the royal wing). This office was just off the main hall of the royal apartments. It sprouted off into many different halls that lead to other rooms - personal chambers, more offices, drawing rooms for receiving guests, bathrooms and linen closets. Currently the royal family, the sons of Fundin, and Ori were in the main drawing room.

Dis offered her cousin a small consolation. “It’s for the best. You know how Durin’s folk are - we get rowdy after a match, and hopefully this outcome will discourage any brawling.”

“Or encourage it, for any who were as dissatisfied as I am,” Dáin grumped. In a quieter voice, he said, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Fili decided to make sure neither of us had an advantage.”

Dis hummed. “My son is wise beyond his years.”

“Or he does what his mother tells him.”

“I’m not trying to give you advice, considering that you know my position on this. But you are both fools if you think displaying your prowess in battle was going to do anything but exasperate him. He is not a dwarf, Dáin. He probably ran back to his room to avoid strangling us all.”

Bilbo had disappeared quite suddenly after the match, and had informed a concerned Bofur when he visited him in his apartments directly after that he’d only gotten a little over heated, and wanted just a little while to rest. That had prompted Thorin to overreact, saying that he _had_ looked quite red in the face, and Bilbo would be the first to deny anything was wrong if he thought it might inconvenience someone. He sent Oin down, which, as Oin reported, had prompted quite the snippy response from the hobbit who only cracked his door to stick his head out and wave the healer off.

Dáin frowned down at his cousin who was sitting primly in an overstuffed arm chair, sipping her tea. “You know why we did it. It’s tradition. It didnae happen as it normally should, but it had to happen or my offer of courtship could be contested.”

Ori, who had been scribbling notes furiously as Kili recounted the match, took a break and joined Dis and Dáin by the fire. He bowed politely, not daring to interrupt them.

“I’m not sure who you’re bowing to, lad, but I hope it’s not me,” Dáin said grinning, patting the young scribe on the shoulder.

“Not at all,” Ori said coolly, leaning discreetly away from Dáin’s touch. Out of the corner of his eye, Ori located Dwalin just outside the drawing room guarding Thorin’s office. The king’s guard had already locked eyes on his fiancé. Ori was just making sure he wasn’t already halfway across the room with Grasper and Keeper raised.

Ori knew he had Dwalin’s respect and trust, but with all the dwarven posturing and testosterone flying around, he wasn’t going to tempt fate. They were still courting after all, and a lord like Dáin ought to pay more attention to proper etiquette. Maybe that was just his oldest brother speaking through him.

“I wished to apologize, princess. I was supposed to keep Bilbo distracted, but he just ran off so suddenly when we started talking about Durin’s Day.”

Dis shook her head and said kindly, “Not at all, Master Ori. I would have rather kept you out of the deceit altogether, but I do believe most of that went over Bilbo’s head. So thank you for your hard work. You did just fine.”

Ori nodded, smiling.

It was then that the hobbit in question rejoined them, looking refreshed and not at all irritated. Dáin rounded on him immediately. “Are you alright? Should you be up already?”

Thorin emerged from his office instantly, demanding to know the same.

Now Bilbo seemed to flush from head to toe, which didn’t help in convincing everyone that he was fine. Eventually the hobbit had to duck away from the grasp of both dwarves who seemed intent on physically inspecting him, batting their hands away and coming to stand behind Dis’ chair. This put not only a piece of furniture between him and the handsy dwarves, but the formidable princess of Erebor as well.

“The hobbit got sick from bein’ overcrowded in the first place,” Dwalin groused.

“Precisely!” Bilbo agreed.

“The hobbit _did_ get overheated, so keep over there the two of you and I’ll be fine. Thank you, Dwalin.”

Dwalin nodded stoically.

“Now!” Bilbo clapped his hands, trusting the two disgruntled dwarves would keep their distance for the time being. He took a chair next to Dis and helped himself to her tea. “I’d nearly forgotten the reason I was looking for you all in the first place,” he began. “Let’s discuss Durin’s Day celebrations.”

 

* * *

 

“They’ve been at this for almost six hours,” Kili pouted. “I thought it would be fun. Now it’s just boring staring contest.”

Thorin snorted, not bothering to lecture his hopeless nephew for leaning on his desk and not feeling particularly sorry for him at all. He’d already knocked over one inkwell and caused Thorin to have to start on his correspondence anew.

“I told you no good would come of bringing elves under the mountain.” Yet, Thorin had let him do it anyway; Kili had not sought his permission, but neither had Thorin made a move to prevent him.

“Tauriel has been perfectly _wonderful,_ just ask Wrenli! She said that was the first decent nap she’s gotten in years.”

"Yes, excellent use of judgement, entrusting our precious children with an _elf_.”

“You shouldn’t say such things about Bombur’s wife, Uncle.”

“I was not-”

“And me! I was there the whole time, and so was _amad_ , and they were perfectly well behaved and they loved every minute they spent with her.”

“And your other elf is interrupting traffic in the main hall by causing a scene.”

“A staring contest is hardly a scene, even if they are standing on one foot atop two statues that happen to be a few stories high. _Bifur_ is the one who issued the challenge,” Kili reminded him.

Thorin grunted. “I cannot say I blame the dwarf who sees an elf and challenges it.”

“ _He_ , uncle, not _it_. So much for putting your prejudices behind you.”

Thorin slapped his hand on his desk, though there was no real irritation behind it. “Your she-elf dishonored me in front of the king tree shagger and you brought them _both_ here without my permission. Do not expect me to be pleased. That does not mean that I haven’t turned a new leaf -”

“Turned a what?”

“A new leaf. It’s an expression,” he waved his hand in irritation.

“Not a dwarrow expression,” Kili smirked triumphantly. “Uncle, by the way, whose permission did you ask to bring a hobbit under the mountain?”

“My own, which I can assure you I gave without reservation.”

Thorin returned to his letter. After several minutes of uncharacteristic silence, Thorin looked up. Kili was staring him down, his expression now grave. Thorin had been waiting for this.

“Uncle-”

“Leave it, Kili.” The king knew exactly what this was about. Each of his kin had taken it upon themselves to broach this subject with him. He was surprised it had taken Kili this long, but that did not mean Thorin was any more eager to hear it.

Two fists suddenly came down on his desk, and Thorin’s resolute gaze met Kili’s blazing one.

“Would you have me live by your example? And Fili? Shall we live our lives hanging our heads in shame, wallowing in self punishment until the end of our days?”

“You know that I would not wish for such a thing.”

“Then why?” Kili began, his voice shaking, “Why would you have us watch you do that very thing to yourself for the rest of your life? We were just as enthralled by the gold and the stone as you. You hoard your blame and guilt and anger just as that disgusting worm did our gold! If you think this is not madness in its own right -”

“ENOUGH!” Thorin roared, the desk moving a few inches as he rose angrily from his chair.

“Enough what, Thorin?” Kili pleaded, not letting the force of his uncle’s anger deter him. “Enough _feeling_? Enough _living_? Is it not for those things you treat as luxuries that we reclaimed our home? So that we could settle down and have the security to live our lives and fall in love and start a family? Why did _amad_ get to be with her One, but not you?”

“Did your mother try to strangle the life out of your father? Did she dangle him from the battlements in rage over a mere stone? Can any of you that question me answer me that? Tell me how do I take one step toward him and dare let such words spill from _this_ mouth?” Thorin yelled, his composure gone.

Kili snarled and strode around the desk, getting in his uncle’s face and grabbing his tunic to yank him close.

“You. Forgive. Yourself,” Kili spat. “You do as you said and you take one step toward him. Then another. Then you let those words spill from _that_ mouth. You do not let fear and guilt temper your actions.” As he said this, Kili’s hard eyes softened, and his fists went lax. “Mahal has made him for you, uncle. I believe that, better than you, I think. He _is_ your One.”

Kili dropped his eyes to the floor and his fists to his side. “We are Durin’s folk. You cannot run from this.”

Thorin let out a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and very gently, leaned forward to touch his forehead to his nephew’s.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure what the purpose of this outing was. Nonetheless, there he, Bofur and Gloin were, on a pony each, making a trip around the perimeter of the mountain. They had already done a soil assessment on the Desolation - it was clear that all the earth from Mirkwood to Erebor was missing vital nutrients to sustain farming. There wasn’t any real point, in Bilbo’s opinion, in specifically grading the soil directly at the base of the mountain. Apparently it needed to be done, however.

It was terribly cold. His nostril hairs froze with every inhale, and every exhale was a pretty white cloud of vapor. It was reaching that bitter part of winter where the wind was vicious and unrelenting, especially on the plains. He had bundled up as much as was physically possible and tried not to grumble at the ridiculousness of the task.

To top it all off, Bofur and Gloin were speaking to each other mostly in Khuzdul. He assumed by now that if the conversation were necessary for Bilbo to hear, they would be speaking in Westron. But it was a courtesy he was used to receiving that dwarves spoke Westron in his presence. It wasn’t a hard rule, but it was simply polite.

He was indignant, at first, but then berated himself for being so demanding, and reminded himself he was likely grumpy at any rate due to the early hour and the cold. Erebor was not his kingdom - he was the outsider, after all.

But if the bloody dwarves weren’t going to let him learn Khuzdul, then the least they could do was speak to him in a language he could understand! And thus he circled back to being indignant.

They’d been making their way around for a good half hour or so when suddenly Gloin and Bofur brought their ponies to a halt and started pointing at the mountain.

“You’re still speaking in Khuzdul,” he reminded them, not trying to keep the irritation out of his voice in the least.

Gloin laughed. “I thought you were being awfully quiet, Master Hobbit! Why didn’t you say something?”

“Sorry, Bilbo,” Bofur said sheepishly. “Bad habit. We were just sayin’ we can’t take the ponies any further this way, we’ll need to hike a bit.”

Bilbo’s brow creased in confusion. “What do you mean? The path is perfectly clear going round.”

Bofur looked in the direction Bilbo was pointing. Then he looked back at Bilbo. “Aye, it is clear that way, but we’re going this way.” He indicated a craggy slope that was indeed too treacherous looking for a pony.

“Why do we need to check up there, exactly?” Bilbo asked skeptically.

Bofur took a deep breath and looked up, as if trying to remember a lesson. Then he recited, “It is vital to utilize all viable space for growin’ food, even if its on the mountain side.”

Gloin chuckled and patted Bofur’s shoulder. “Tha’s right, just like we practiced... Did I just say that in Westron?”

Bilbo was too cold and angry to argue about this right now. He shuffled off his pony with a huff and started trudging up the slope, leaving Gloin and Bofur to scramble after him.

 

* * *

 

There was an angry, shivering hobbit in front of him. Even after Thorin had sat Bilbo down next to the fire and plied him with a hot bowl of stew from the kitchens and many apologies, Thorin still had an angry, shivering hobbit in front of him.

“I should not have insisted.”

“No you should not,” Bilbo confirmed unhappily. “Worry about the damn desolation first before you decide it’s a good idea to start planting gardens on the side of your mountain, Thorin. Use your head!”

Thorin sighed heavily, doing his best to appear chastised. After the day he’d had, he didn’t have to try hard to appear properly scolded. His nephew had seen to that.

“You’ll be gone for the the planting. I’d be lying if I said I was not anxious about the success of the crops upon your return next year. I felt the more variety of locations we had to plant in, the higher the likelihood of success.”

Thorin could see a bit of Bilbo’s resolve melt at that.

“Were there locations that were viable?”

Bilbo snorted and took a moment before responding. “Technically, yes. But it would require reshaping the whole terrain of that area, and it is not a space that could yield enough crop to justify all that extra work. It was a creative idea, Thorin, don’t get me wrong. You deserve credit for thinking outside the box, or the mountain, in this case. But I don’t recommend attempting a project like this for a few more years. It would be more of an experiment than anything, and not one we really can afford.”

“Which part of the mountain was it?” Bilbo sighed. “Well, I suppose in that location, we were facing east almost completely. Gloin claimed he could even see the Iron Hills from there. I’m not sure I agree, considering my eyesight has been better than most dwarves I’ve met and I saw no such thing.”

Thorin nodded, smiling. “I used to tell Frerin the same thing. He was too small to understand what I was saying, but I would take him to the very spot you’re talking about to show him the sunrise.”

They were quiet for a moment before Bilbo said quietly, “I do wish I could have met him.”

Thorin smiled. “As do I. He was a long suffering peace maker, I’m sure the two of you would have gotten on very well. His patience seemed limitless. With an older brother like me I daresay it was a necessity to survival.”

His thoughts lingered on his brother for a moment. It seemed his memory was brought up more and more these days. It was a relief to be reassured that he was not the only one who remembered his brother.

Bilbo’s voice brought him back out of his thoughts. “Was he as handsome as you?”

Thorin grinned and almost started to answer the question, when he realized what Bilbo had said. So apparently had Bilbo. The alarmed looking hobbit was red to the tips of his ears.

A small smile began to slowly creep across the king’s face.

“Well I mean I was just being polite Eru knows you don’t need anymore ego in that fat head of yours-”

“That fat, handsome head,” Thorin corrected, grinning somewhat unabashedly now.

“Careful now or you’ll have to remove your crown before you outgrow it,” Bilbo groused.

Thorin reached up slowly and removed the crown, setting it on the small table between them. Cocking an eyebrow at Bilbo, he said, “Do go on.”

Scandalized, Bilbo sat there unable to produce a single intelligent thing to say. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, he was struck with a thought. This was just the same expression Thorin had worn that first night in Bag End.

_”So this is the hobbit.”_

Also suddenly, and also quiet unexpectedly, he said aloud without meaning to at all, “Are you flirting with me?”

 

 

* * *

 

“It isn’t Yule yet,” Bilbo told Dáin tiredly.

“Good, because this innae for Yule, and it’s not exactly from me. I only arranged it,” the lord responded.

Bilbo frowned at the dwarf who’d arrived at his apartments unannounced, as usual. It was well into evening, after dinner but before supper, and the hobbit had been enjoying a well deserved pipe after a very long day.

Dáin had brought a package that was large and obviously very heavy, if the pushing and grunting and straining to get it through the door any indication. Bilbo swore to Yavanna if this was a large brick of precious metal, he was leaving for the Shire right now and never looking back, winter be damned.

Dáin laughed heartily at that, and encouraged Bilbo to open it.

And the hobbit did, though he had little patience for gifts and overtures at this point. Underneath the leather tarp was an additional layer of brown paper covering the box. It came up past Bilbo’s knee, and was longer than Bilbo was tall. He wondered what on middle earth it could be?

Underneath all the packaging was a battered chest. Honestly it looked like the type of chest an adventurer might find when searching for buried treasure. There were thick leather straps binding it shut, in addition to a large padlock on the front.

“Is there a key, or-”

Dáin stepped forward and bent down. He eyed the lock, turning it slightly in his hand before simply tugging it off with a _tink_. “Don’t worry, ye won’t need the lock once you’ve opened it.”

Bilbo was curious, bordering on suspicious. If this was a joke and Kili or Gimli jumped out of there to surprise him… so help him he’d leave for the Shire then too. It would not take much to set him off at this point.

Slowly, Bilbo lifted the lid just a little, hoping to get a peek of it before he actually opened the lid.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of damp earth. Then he threw caution aside and opened the lid all the way.

It was earth. Dark, rich, and fragrant  _soil_. His hands twitched to bury themselves in it immediately.

Bilbo looked at Dáin, bewildered, and before he could inquire further, Dáin handed him another much smaller package that he hadn’t seen. “You’ll understand better with this, I think.”

He opened this new package as well, and found it was a box full of little fabric bags, each tied with a little bit of string. It still was not clear to him what this was when he saw a small note with scribbled handwriting peeking out from the bottom. Pulling it out, it read:

_“Dear Mister Bilbo,_

_As I am not sure when, and in what condition, this planter will reach you, I thought it best to send seeds. There’s not much in the way of seedlings right now anyway as you well know, so hopefully this will brighten up your mountain soon enough. I picked things that need less direct sunlight. Sadly no tomatoes, but if the raven was honest and we are to expect you in the summer, then you’ll have a taste of our prize winners yourself._

_A Merry Yule to you (if it is not too early or too late)!_

_May the hair on your toes grow ever longer,_

_Hamfast Gamgee_

_P.S. Mister Drogo sends his best. I won’t be remiss in hinting that perhaps you should keep an eye out for any timely wedding invitations come your way…_

_P.P.S. - If all dwarves are as polite as Mister Ironfoot, I daresay you can’t be havin’ as bad a time as some of us have feared."_

Bilbo was so confused. How had Dáin arranged this? How long had he been corresponding with Hamfast? What on Middle Earth had possessed him to go through so much trouble just so Bilbo could plant a few flowers? Well, Bilbo was sure he knew the answer to that.

Before even bothering to thank him, as was the polite thing to do, Bilbo demanded answers to his questions.

“Tharkun,” was all Dáin said at first.

“That is a name, not an answer.”

Dáin shrugged. “Your Name Day. It must have been sometime in Forelithe*, the time he was here before last. There were talks of what the company would do to celebrate. I dinnae have anything to give you, as I was not sure what you would desire. Even then I knew better than to give you a gem or gold. So I asked Tharkun what hobbits enjoy. He told me of your gardener, and we have exchanged many letters. Of course, you might be well sick of planting now,” he chuckled.

Bilbo narrowed his gaze at Dáin. “Yes but how did this large chest of lovely Shire soil get _here_?”

Dáin avoided that demanding look and muttered something under his breath in Khuzdul.

“I swear I’m going to start learning that language behind everyone’s backs. Now stop being a child and tell me how this got here, Dáin Ironfoot.”

Dáin suffered under that gaze for several moments before he finally declared, “I… sent a few of mine to the Shire to collect it.”

Bilbo’s shoulders fell.

Dáin crossed his arms behind his back and began pacing the short length of Bilbo’s receiving room. “Rest assured, I secured Thranduil’s assistance prior to insulting him beyond forgiveness, so the forest gave them no trouble. Tharkun journeyed with them through the mountains, to Rivendell, and from there to the Shire they travelled alone. I had Elrond’s cooperation as well-”

“Stop, stop, stop.”

Dáin stopped pacing, and stood nervously, waiting for Bilbo’s to speak.

As for the hobbit, his mind less awhirl with this information and far more exasperated. He sank slowly to his knees in front of the chest and just took a moment to bury his hands in the earth. He’d been waiting to do that from the moment he’d opened the box. The soil was slightly sandy, with a bit of clay in it as well. Hamfast must have taken the dwarves to the north side of the Brandywine to collect it.

He took a deep breath and looked at Dáin. “You should not have done this.”

“Bilbo-”

“No. You should not have done this Dáin. You are a lord, and those are your men to command, but I would not have had…” Bilbo sighed and drew his hand back up, brushing them off and standing back up. “What if one or all of them had been hurt or died? Just for a present for me? If this whole experience has taught me anything, and I’d hoped taught us all, is that it is to each other that we must cling, not objects of value, sentimental or otherwise.”

Bilbo could tell Dáin wanted to argue. There was a fire in his eyes and the hobbit knew he was not getting his point across. Dáin was just holding his tongue because he knew better than to argue with him.

“Those details aside,” Bilbo continued on, shaking his head and finally allowing himself a small smile, “I cannot say I have ever received a lovelier gift. This chest will make a lovely planter, and I am happier than I can say to have good soil at my fingertips. I shall get to see these things blooms.”

Dáin let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping visibly.

“Good.”

Dáin helped Bilbo moved the chest over to the one window shaft in Bilbo’s apartments. It would get at least a little sun there everyday.

He sorted through the bags of seeds while Dáin kept him company and took over Bilbo’s pipe.

“How on earth did you secure the cooperation of two elf kings? I’m surprised Elrond allowed another dwarf to step foot in Rivendell after what happened last time. You realize that you have effectively ended the conflict between your races that has lasted generations beyond counting.”

“Well, not entirely,” Dáin’s grin was smug.

“Oh yes, of course. You had to go and start the whole thing over again because you couldn’t keep Frònka under control.”

Bilbo was truly touched, and he was rambling to cover up his nerves. In all his life he’d never received so much attention from a suitor, let alone two at once. To be honest, he wasn’t all that sure his conversation between Thorin and he changed anything, so he could be counting his eggs prematurely.

“So this Hamfast, he seems quite loyal to you,” Dáin commented, changing the subject.

“Oh yes,” Bilbo said, keeping his eyes fixed on the seeds before him. “He was just a boy when my father hired him to tend the garden at Bag End. His father had the job before him. His wife just gave birth to their third child before I’d left.”

“So he is married then. Couldnae tell from the letters, as we didn’t discuss much beyond our secret task. Even in our brief correspondence, I could tell... he cares very much for you.”

Bilbo laughed. ”My father was always puzzled by their family’s, er, intense dedication to Bag End and it’s occupants. Not that I’m not grateful, mind you. Hamfast is a bit like an uncle to me, or an elder brother, and it helped to have that connection after my parents passed. Wait,” Bilbo looked up, “are you saying you thought Hamfast and I were involved?”

Dáin shrugged. “Usually when a dwarf demonstrates that type of dedication, it’s for one reason only.”

Bilbo turned a little pink at the implication of that in regards to the dwarf in front of him, and the one that wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

It ended up being a thought that kept Bilbo from getting much sleep at all that night. When he did finally sleep, he dreamt that he was an eagle, soaring over great distances and ending his journey by coming to roost atop the very tip of Erebor, where he had a comfortable nest with an armchair and his lovely planter box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle-earth_calendar
> 
> Halimath = August 23rd to September 21st  
> Foreyule = November 21 to December 20  
> Forelithe = May 22 to June 20
> 
> Comments and kudos are devoured like manna from the heavens.


	6. Braid In Your Hair, Bead In Your Braid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin confesses. Gimli's bamf!mama adopts Bilbo. Dwalin and Bilbo love each other SO MUCH, man. They just love each other SO MUCH. Listen. Listen. Shhhhhh. They're like... they're like... bros. For LIFE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Amity, for keeping me encouraged and for all your hard beta work! (I hope for her sake I'm getting better as I go along.) I know it must be extra hard trying to work with someone who speaks a completely different dialect of American english than you. You're such a trooper. Now lets go get snockered, because anymore I just don't give a f&ck (okay enough inside regional-language-differences jokes).
> 
> Art for this chapter commissioned from tosquinha (check her out on tumblr). She is the best!
> 
> I would like to credit anonymoussong (go looked them up on tumblr!) for the headcanon regarding amber and it's usage by dwarves later in this chapter. I had already decided that amber would show up in this chapter, but a very well timed post by anonymoussong's alter-ego exileddurin provided the headcanon you will read about later in the chapter.
> 
> If you have not checked out the live blog by anonymoussong as exileddurin and evil-bones-mccoy as quiterespectablyyours, do so! They are blogging as Thorin and Bilbo in real time, detailing the events of The Hobbit (a mix of the book and movie-verse, as well as a lot of their own clever ideas). VERY entertaining and insightful and all sorts of wonderful things.
> 
> Kudos and comments let me know you're enjoying this, and I do hope you are. :)

“Thorin are you trying to make me go bald?” Dis snapped, the limits of her pain tolerance finally having been reached. Her brother had walked into her room late that evening appearing worn out and lost. She’d invited him to sit and help her with her hair, hoping he would open up about whatever was bothering him.

She’d regretted suggesting he braid her hair. He kept stopping for several minutes at a time, his grip unconsciously getting tighter and tighter until she’d pointed it out. Finally he sighed in disgust and gave up.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly, handing her back the box that held her beads.

“You obviously have something on your mind, brother,” she said patiently.

Thorin gave no acknowledgement, instead getting up to pace the length of Dis’ modestly furnished room as she tended to her own grooming.

Finally, he sat down again, staring at the floor with resentment as if it had offended him.

“Kili told me that he spoke with you earlier today,” the princess offered.

Thorin grunted. “Your son has become a fine dwarf. He is a credit to our line.”

Dis raised a delicate eyebrow. “Well, he does have his moments.”

Thorin hummed. “I forget, sometimes, how his passion can rival my own. For all his dallying with elves, he is a good dwarf and a fine prince. Better than I was then, and he will surpass all of my accomplishments in time, I have no doubt.”

Dis tilted her head, curious. “That must have been some conversation you had.”

Her brother nodded.

“And? I know you aren’t moping in here just because of that conversation. Kili told me it appeared as though he might have gotten through that thick skull of yours. Did you do something?”

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but failed to produce any words. He merely gave Dis a pleading look and shook his head.

Dis laughed. “Oh my, it couldn’t have been _that_ bad. Tell me what happened, brother.”

Thorin frowned. “You know it has been many years since I have considered courting, let alone attempted it. I… Dis, he... “

Dis’ expression grew concerned. “Bilbo did not refuse you?”

Thorin closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose, trying to stifle his humiliation.

“No. I… failed to communicate with the grace that he deserved,” he said, hanging his head.

“Aha…” Dis covered her mouth to stifle her laugh, but was not successful. Thorin’s expression grew cloudier and more thunderous with each mirthful outburst.

“If I didn’t have reason enough to avoid this type of entanglement, my unbearable family would be reason enough!” Thorin griped. “This is all your son’s fault anyway.”

“Your savior one moment, your downfall the next. This is the nature of children, _nadad_. What would possess you to take Kili’s advice on the, er, finer points of courting?”

“He said that I do not need to scare Bilbo with a dramatic explanation, or start by bringing up the past, as I had planned to do. I should just… relax, was the word, I believe.”

Dis cleared her throat several times, truly trying not to take too much amusement from this. After a moment, she pressed, “Am I to assume, then, that you made some suggestive overture that he did not respond to favorably? Was he angry or offended?”

“Try earnestly bewildered.”

Dis blinked. “Well... I suppose it isn’t completely out of the question that he might have a rather uncomplicated view of your feelings for him. You almost alienated him completely, so-”

“Yes, yes, I know. I simply did not realize that I had pushed him so far away that he took my sincere attempt to flirt with him as _practice_.”

Dis closed her eyes against the second hand embarrassment she was feeling for her brother. What a terrible case of the blind leading the blind. Her elder brother was not practiced in the art of wooing or charming others. When it did happen, it usually happened quite by accident. Forced manners and Thorin were a poor combination.

“I was only following his lead,” Thorin explained, then he told her the whole story.

_Several hours earlier…._

_“Are you flirting with me?”_

_Thorin’s bravado fled from him._

_“I merely took the opening you gave me,” he said with far more defensiveness in his tone than he had meant._

_“Oh,” Bilbo seemed to deflate. “Of course.”_

_“I did not… That is to say, I was... flirting with you, though it is clear from your response that I require some study,” Thorin forced himself to clarify, trying to sound confident. He felt the heat in his cheeks and he wondered briefly when he had been reduced to a gawky adolescent barely into his beard all over again. The king kept Kili’s forceful words at the forefront of his mind. If he did not make it clear now, he was not sure he would ever summon the courage to do so.  
_

_Bilbo shook his head, obviously still confused. “I… I don’t understand, Thorin. Am I helping you practice? I need you to speak plainly.”_

_Thorin balked. “Mahal’s hammer, Bilbo… I have decided…”_ _He tried again, but shook his head. Kili had told him not to start with the past._

_“I wish to…” No. Bold declarations were not a good idea. He growled in frustration, angry at himself that this seemed to come so much more naturally to Dain._

_Dain. Perhaps that would be as good a starting point as any, since there seemed to be none at all. He met Bilbo’s questioning gaze, his chest clenching at the thought of how Bilbo would react if he could only manage to express himself clearly._

_“My cousin’s attentions to you have thrown into sharp relief the danger I risk of losing you.”_

_Bilbo took a moment to process what Thorin had said. The confused expression gradually slipped into one of irritation._

_“Is this about him asking me to leave with him all those months ago? I will not leave Erebor unless I am no longer wanted, and I take no pleasure in having to repeat myself.”_

_Thorin opened his mouth to respond, not even sure what he was intending to say to that, but Bilbo went on before a proper thought could form._

_“So what is this, then? You see your cousin trying to court me and you think I’ll be tempted to stay if you court me better? Not only are you way off mark trying to manipulate me into staying by using such a tactic, Thorin Oakenshield, but for Eru’s sake it is not even necessary!” Bilbo shrugged off the blanket he’d been wrapped in and got to his feet. “And for the record, it is incredibly rude and unkind to court someone for any other reason than loving them!”_

_Thorin’s heart felt like it had flipped unpleasantly in his chest and landed straight in his stomach. The full consequences of his foolishness hit him, then. Had not spent the last year carefully constructing a strictly platonic, professional relationship with Bilbo, and building a wall around himself personally, the hobbit might be more willing to believe his confession was sincere. As it was, it appeared that Bilbo was so far from believing that Thorin’s feelings might be sincere that he was coming to completely ridiculous conclusions to explain this conversation._

_“I owe you an apology, Bilbo.” Thorin stood as well._

_“I should think so.”_

_“Not for what I have said here-“_

_“Thorin,” Bilbo interrupted, but Thorin pushed on._

_“-But for what I have done since I have met you. I did not wish to taint this moment by bringing up the past, but my whole attempt has been tainted by my utter foolishness. I care for you, Bilbo. Quite… quite desperately, in fact. I thought I knew better than even my creator and pushed you away. I have dishonored you with my cowardice and I will do so no longer. I will prove my affections and I will not sit idly by while my cousin tries to take you for his own. I care not if you relinquish your duties this very moment. I do not care if you ever lift another finger or spare another thought for Erebor.”_

 

“But Thorin that was beautiful!” Dis assured him. “Surely he must have responded favorably to that.”

Thorin sighed. “He did not. He cursed dwarves everywhere. He cursed me. He cursed Dain. He cursed Gandalf and himself.”

“And that is how he left it?” she pressed.

Thorin laughed wryly. “No. He told me to get out. I took no pleasure in reminding him that we were in my quarters.”

“Did he say nothing of his feelings for you?”

“When I asked, he told me I would not like what he would have to say about that in that particular moment, then he left.”

Dis blew a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “Well.”

“Indeed.”

She mulled this over for a moment before she shrugged and went back to braiding. Her mane rivaled Thorin’s in thickness and length, and it was a lot of work keeping keeping the tangles out of her own beard. “Do as he says. Give him time. Dain has been pressing harder lately and unlike with you, I’m fairly certain Bilbo has picked up on what Dain is doing. He will have his own thoughts and feelings to sort out, on top of everything else on his plate. Don’t pressure him.”

“I would not,” Thorin scoffed.

Dis pinned him with an incredulous look. “Really? How do you see this proceeding?”

“I will give him time. He will either turn me down in favor of proceeding in courtship with Dain, or he will accept my feelings and we shall court.”

Dis snorted. “Have you even asked him how hobbits court?”

Thorin had to admit that he had not.

Dis suddenly realized she had a lot of work to do, and she would need help.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo decided to test Thorin’s declaration. When he awoke the next morning, he made no move to rush about his typical business and passed first and second breakfast in his own apartments.

As a courtesy, he did step out long enough to find the first guard on duty and hand him a note to deliver to Balin that explained that he would available in his apartment should they need him, but not to expect him at council, or the following meetings he was due to attend that day.

He cooked for himself, had tea by himself, and began preparing his planter by himself. Mostly he tried not to think about the previous day, but then he started sorting out the seeds from Hamfast.

Bleeding heart flower, forget-me-nots, begonias… Bilbo wondered at the irony. Dain was a bleeding heart if Bilbo had ever seen one. He was not inhibited by anything - not his lordship, not propriety, not even proper manners. Before he understood Dain better, he’d found the behavior off-putting. Anymore it was actually quite endearing. Dain had not withheld himself from Bilbo as most other dwarves would do, prior to being widely accepted as a dwarf-friend. He’d actively sought Bilbo out, involved himself in Bilbo’s well being and comfort, and offered him friendship unreservedly. He was very easy to look at, as would be the bleeding hearts when they bloomed. They would make for an eccentric addition to the planter.

Sadly, Hamfast had not included any gladiolus bulbs - not that they were really suitable for indoors. Infatuation, strength of character, faithfulness and honor; though whether what Thorin felt for him was more than infatuation, or merely a knee jerk reaction to Dain’s behavior, Bilbo could not be sure.

Then again, Hamfast had not included any seeds for flowers that were secretive and self loathing, and kept other flowers at a distance until it was suddenly convenient for them to pull other poor, unsuspecting flowers close because the other flowers were being asked to come live in other gardens. Perhaps the gladiolus would change his stupid mind, and suddenly decide the poor flower he’d pulled close wasn’t wanted anymore, and push him away like he had been, back and forth, back and forth all year.

Bilbo found himself glaring at the box of seeds, but after a while, allowed that none of this was the poor box’s fault. Trying to shake these stressful thoughts away, he decided that the forget-me-nots and begonias would do nicely to fill out the rest of the planter.

Bilbo was just watering the planted seeds when there was a knock at his door. Sighing, he found himself grateful that they’d managed to give him this long.

He fully expected to see Dain or Thorin or even Dis at his door. What he got was Gimli.

“Hello, Gimli. What brings you by?”

Gimli puffed out his chest proudly. “ _Amad_ would like to invite you to join her for lunch, if you’ve not already made arrangements.”

“Of course, I’d be delighted. I daresay it’s almost lunch right now, or perhaps a bit late for it. What time shall I arrive?”

“At your earliest convenience. I can wait and escort you, if you like. I’m not sure if you remember how to get there?”

Bilbo smiled gratefully and admitted he did not. He’d been there just once so far, and it was not a proper visit at all. He’d heard that when Dwimla was not attending to the never ending list of repair projects in the forges, she was hard at work renovating their residence. Gloin was certainly sparing no expense, and of course everyone knew this because, quite simply, the dwarf never stopped talking about it. It would be a good distraction anyway, and a good chance to get to catch up with Dwimla; he could use the good conversation. She was a dwarrowdamn fiercely committed to her craft, however, so the hobbit felt quite lucky that she was setting aside time for him.

He washed his face and hands and was in fresh clothes in record time. His mop of ever-growing curls was beyond helping at this point, but the least he could do was make sure it didn’t rat up like Radagast’s. He certainly kept it much cleaner than the wizard did, at any rate.

Gimli chattered excitedly about the Yule banquet to be held in just two days time. The young dwarf inevitably brought up the lamentable decision not to proceed with a drinking competition. Bilbo shared his disappointment - in the Shire they’d had drinking competitions as often as one could come up with even a flimsy excuse for one. But unless they were planning to accomplish it using Dorwinian wine, which all with input fervently concluded was not an option, then there was not enough of any other type of spirit around to accomplish it this year. That is, not if they wanted to actually serve anything at the banquet.

Gimli was quick to cheer, however, when Bilbo told him that though Thranduil would not be attending himself, he had agreed to send representatives which would include his son and Tauriel.

“Good!” Gimli crowed. “Do you think we can arrange to serve them a meal entirely made of meat? I’ve been saving that idea since _adad_ told me the terrible stories of Rivendell.”

Bilbo grinned but said sternly, “As a diplomat, I would not suggest you repay the deeds of Elrond’s people on Thranduil’s people.”

“Ah,” Gimli seemed to agree. “So you’re saying we should throw them in our dungeons?”

Bilbo laughed, very grateful for Gimli’s good company after a morning spent with no one but himself. He was such an eager lad, and really a very good lad, too. The hobbit had been a little surprised at himself when he’d realized Gimli’s place in his heart was right next to Fili’s and Kili’s. Gloin’s son could bring out the same ire in Bilbo that Dis’ boys did, but also the same burst of affection when they were being that particular Durin-variety brand of sweet.

Gimli navigated the almost quarter-of-an-hour walk through the narrow, zigzagging walkways that led through the mountain. Bilbo preferred to travel along the mountain’s perimeter as much as possible, though it would take him longer to get where he was going a lot to the time. He was never going to be comfortable on these paths without a railing, and why on middle earth had no one ever thought to install them? The stubborn argument that “they look better this way” did not impress Bilbo, particularly because he did not agree. The long, intimidating trek to the throne would look a lot more inviting with a lovely stone railing on either side to insure he did not fall to his imminent death, in his opinion.

Nevertheless, Bilbo kept close to Gimli and mercifully they were not on the paths for long. Finally they reached a balcony that featured a beautifully carved wall of marble. Imbedded in it were several sizable gems, the effect of which created an abstract - or, at least, it was abstract to Bilbo, as he could not recognize a specific image in it - piece of art. It was visually quite striking, but Bilbo was not sure where to go to next. There was no entrance, and no hallway to the left or right. Only the balcony and the wall.

He looked at Gimli, who was grinning. “ _Amad_ just finished this a few days ago. Now tell me if you’ve ever seen a thing like this,” he said proudly.

He stepped forward and produced what appeared to be an uncut gem from his pocket. He tapped it to a gem of matching color on the wall, and Bilbo felt a small vibration beneath his feet before the wall seemed to neatly fold in on itself.

Gimli ushered him inside, and Bilbo _marveled_. The polished stone of the hallway was simply beautiful. It had no decoration and needed none, as the layers of rock that made up this part of the mountain were brilliantly layered. The visual effect when lit properly and polished was just breathtaking.

“She picked this part of the mountain for a reason, even though everyone thought we were touched in the head for starting from scratch, and so far from the entrance, too,” Gimli chuckled.

Bilbo nodded, his attention quickly drawn to the space that the front entrance opened up to.

“Mahal’s hammer…” Bilbo uttered, startled to find himself faced with a grand staircase leading up to the first story, balconies and hallways on either side leading off into other rooms. Then up another story with much the same installation. The polish on the stone was so glossy that with a little more light Bilbo was sure he would have seen his reflection.

“Just a bit further to the dining room.”

 

 

* * *

 

Bilbo thought it was odd that Dwimla dismissed Gimli immediately after he’d gotten there. She greeted him pleasantly enough, however, and simply cited that Gimli had duties to attend to and other plans for lunch.

Gloin’s wife was unlike Wrenli in every way possible. Wrenli was petite, bordering on wan (for a dwarf), with a pale complexion and blond hair not unlike the color of his own. Her beard was thin and wispy, not enough to put braids or beads in. Wrenli had lovely eyes and delicate features, and Bilbo considered her a lovely dwarrowdam, in his opinion. She was the mother of nine children, a wife, and still managed to find time to be involved to offer her insight on the dwarfling’s school curriculum with Balin and Ori.

Dwimla, on the other hand, Bilbo was ashamed to say he truly _had_ mistaken her for another dwarf, instead of a dwarrowdam. He’d heard Dori called the epitome of dwarven beauty, so when considering Dwimla, that made a sort of sense. It was not just Gloin who had called her the most beautiful dwarrowdam of their age.

Dwimla had a full, wiry beard, with none of the fineness he was used to seeing in Thorin’s and Dis’. It was immense, however, matching Gloin’s easily. Her hair was also coppery red, and her ruddy complexion was covered in freckles. She had a broad nose, and she wore the entire top of her hair in braids, pulling the rest of it back in a great, bushy ponytail. Bilbo couldn’t count how many clasps and beads she wore in her hair - there were simply too many to count.

 

 

She was very stout, and she had the confident gait of a dwarrowdam that would not suffer fools. She was also a doting mother, and a very patient wife.

They were enjoying a rather modest lunch of bread and stew - Bilbo hadn’t really come here for the food after all. He was looking forward to a grand tour of this home, as everything he’d seen was simply astonishing.

“At the rate the reconstruction in the forge is going, and the work in Dale and the marketplace, how soon do you think we’ll be able to turn our attention to residences?” Bilbo asked, unable to help himself from taking a look around the dining room again. It was all a little bit open for his tastes.

However, he’d started to daydream about the potential of actually installing a smial in the mountain; one that had access to the outside, no matter how modest that access was. There had to be more areas like the hidden door they’d come through; spots that had even just a few feet of space for him to get out and walk about. If not that, after seeing what Dwimla was capable of, Bilbo was sure it was possible at the very least to get a round, wooden door for his apartments. He did not want to think about having to heave that damn stone door open everyday. Not for the rest of his life, anyway.

Dwimla smiled, pleased that she’d managed to impress the hobbit. “I’ve been trying to convince Thorin that we need to start in Thrimidge*, since we’re expecting the next caravan in Astron*, and yet another after that. It’s a daunting task, and means potentially requesting that Dain’s soldiers stay long enough to see the reconstruction in the forges through, and give a hand with the planting. Thorin’s not precisely keen on that.”

Bilbo felt the familiar bubble of anxiety well up when he started thinking about all that needed to be done, and the fact that he would be leaving Erebor to do it without him.

“Anyway, it will all work out,” she reassured him. “Would you care to join me in our library for a drink when we’re done here?”

Bilbo dropped his spoon. “Y-you have a library?”

 

 

* * *

 

Dwimla not only had a good brandy, but she had a lovely bit of crumb cake as well, and the most comfortable sofa he’d ever sat on (though nothing would ever hold a candle to his arm chair, which he fully intended to bring back with him from the Shire, even if he had to drag it himself). The hobbit could not have been more perfectly distracted if he’d been in his own apartments having tea by himself. Dwimla had laughed when she showed Bilbo the mostly empty shelves. There was just half a shelf filled so far.

“I’m impressed that you have any books at all, with everything in the state that it's in. And here you are, secretly in here creating a masterpiece of a home while nobody's looking. Dwarves,” Bilbo said, shaking his head.

“ _Dwarrowdams_ ,” she corrected. Bilbo smiled apologetically. “So have you chosen someone to speak on your behalf yet?”

“Hm?” Bilbo cocked his head to the side curiously.

“I was hoping that I might be abler offer my assistance, while we’re discussing it. I had two suitors at once as well, after all, and you should be fully informed of our courting traditions and customs. Likewise, it would be helpful for us to know the manner in which hobbits court.”

Bilbo choked on his own spit, and took several moments trying to regain his breath. Dwimla offered him water, looking on worriedly.

“What on middle earth are you talking about?”

Dwimla gave him a critical look. “Come now, Bilbo. We’ve all known about Thorin for a while, though he’s done a bang up job of hiding it from you and mucking it all up. Please tell me you’re sensible enough to know Dain also-”

“Right, right, you don’t have to say it,” Bilbo waved impatiently.

Dwimla nodded. “A lot of eyes will be on you before you leave for the Shire, and even more when you return. I’m sure you’d prefer to tell me to sod off and mind my own, but if there is even a small chance you are considering either of them, there will be… expectations. You have a right to know what those are.”

Bilbo was suddenly reminded very strongly of another conversation he’d had like this perhaps more than thirty years ago with his father, and he was no more eager to have this one than he had been to have that one. Bilbo sighed. “Right. And those expectations are?”

“Dwarrow courtship is complicated at best, Bilbo. I thought it best to provide you with some reading material that Ori has been reviewing himself. He had a hunch and thought it might be imperative to have a copy in Westron. Very convenient, if I say so myself. If you’re amenable, I can walk you through it, and I’ve been assured that you are more than welcome to witness Ori and Dwalin’s milestones. The few that you will be here for, at any rate.”

After several moments of silence, Bilbo said, “I’m not entirely sure what to say.” And that was the truth. He’d only just been told about Thorin’s _alleged_ feelings the day before, and he certainly was not anywhere near courting with Dain, at least not from hobbit standards. Perhaps therein lay Dwimla’s concern.

“If you’ll forgive me for being blunt, the only reason you should choose to forego my offer was if you knew with all certainty, right now, that you do not wish to court either of them, and never will. Otherwise, for your own sake, I’d suggest you humor me. You cannot play chess if you do not know the rules. Well, I suppose you could stumble your way through it, but you strike me as the type who likes to be prepared.”

Bilbo snorted, thinking of the day he’d run out of his smial without his handkerchief or a lick of sensible clothing.

“I… Thank you, Dwimla. I confess I’ve been a bit overwhelmed since yesterday, and I’m not sure what to think, or do, or say… Although,” Bilbo thought suddenly, levelling Dwimla with a suspicious look, “something tells me you all can’t have been respecting my privacy if you’ve conveniently managed to catch me less than a full day after Thorin…”

He made a quick motion with his hand, indicating the conflicting memory he did not wish to bring up with words.

Dwimla chuckled quietly, offering only, “Dis.”

Bilbo nodded, and wondered briefly what she knew of Thorin’s feelings, and how long she’d known.

Bilbo bowed his head, searching for some steady ground to place his thoughts and feelings. “I suppose it can’t hurt to be as educated as possible. And I won’t be doing anything official, right? Just by agreeing to hear you out, I haven’t… well, indicated anything, have I?”

“No,” Dwimla said gently. “And I will make sure that you are fully informed should you be at risk for secretly marrying someone without your consent. Though generally you’d have to try very hard and be very dense for that to happen.”

Bilbo chuckled, which was really all he could do. Marriage, courtship, expectations. Life seemed a little simpler when he was overwhelmed with the duties of the council. He took one day off and suddenly his whole world was upside down. Before speaking to Dwimla, he’d almost convinced himself that like could somehow proceed as before, and Thorin would probably change his mind anyway, and Dain couldn’t really be serious about a stuffy old hobbit like him…

But no, pretending this was not happening or that it would all go away was not going to work. If Dis had gotten involved, then she was more certain about Thorin’s feelings than Bilbo was. He needed to talk to that idiot dwarf. He just didn’t know what to say.

And Dain. The hobbit could not dismiss what had grown between them, no matter what his feelings for Thorin. There again, however, he did not possess any better understanding.

 

 

* * *

 

Bilbo decided to take the next two days off from his duties as well, and instead of feeling cowardly, he reminded himself that he had not had a proper day off since he left Bag End. By no means did this mean he had leisure time. He studied the book Dwimla gave him, collaborated with Bombur on the banquet, and made time to get down to Dale for a few things he needed for his own pantry. Then suddenly it was Yule, and he’d managed to spend two whole days successfully avoiding the entire line of Durin.

Finally, Dis quite literally ran into him as he on his way back to his apartments to get changed for the small ceremony that would open the banquet.

“I’m so sorry, Dis-”

“No, no, not at all. I was hoping to find you, in fact. Are you on your way back to your rooms? Do you mind if I join you?”

Bilbo could not say no to the hesitant look on her face.

She was already dressed for the ceremony - having opted for a rich burgundy dress that made her pale skin look like porcelain. They filled in the conversation by idly discussing the details of the evening. Bilbo offered to make Dis tea while she waited for him, but she declined, her gaze immediately drawn to Bilbo’s planter where it sat beneath his window, then next to the translated tome he’d left out next to his chair by the hearth.

Bilbo wasn’t sure if she intended to interrogate him or not, so before he had a chance to find out, he bade Dis have a seat and hurried to his room to get ready.

He didn’t know how Dori had found the time, what with mother-henning Ori to the brink of the young dwarf’s sanity, and almost singlehandedly drafting and revising the Guild contracts, but the eldest Ri brother had made the hobbit a new set of robes as a Yule gift. He expected no less of Dori, but he had been stunned by the exquisite level of detail in the trim nonetheless. He’d used festive colors, but nothing too garish for Bilbo’s tastes. Green and gold, with a tasteful amount of red thrown in. He’d saved back a bit of holly to pin to his outer robe, and decided to forgo a scarf. His hair… again, he looked at himself in the mirror and mourned the fact that the best he could really do was brush it.

In truth, he’d wanted to cut it, but he decided to wait until he got back to the Shire. Cutting one’s hair for dwarves was considered vulgar or a sign of deep mourning, and he very much wanted to avoid being tackled by dwarves the moment he so much as eyeballed a pair of scissors.

Dis, getting a little misty-eyed when Bilbo walked out and asked nervously for her opinion, addressed the very issue and asked if he would like her to put a braid in his hair.

Bilbo considered it. “Will it draw much attention?”

“Likely, but nothing negative. You are a dwarf-friend, and no one would question you wearing one.”

“You won’t… put one in that... says anything, will you?” Bilbo felt guilty even asking, but simply put, he felt rather vulnerable since his conversation with Dwimla.

Dis hesitated a moment. “You can trust me, Bilbo. I know this is all…” She looked at him a little sadly. “Actually, I cannot imagine how this must be for you, and only a fool would assume that you have nothing to be frustrated about. That is why I thought it best to send Dwimla to you. Please know that whatever the outcome, the dwarves of Erebor love you. You are family in my heart, whether you ever are by marriage.”

Dis stood and put her hands gently on Bilbo’s shoulders. Her grey-ish blue eyes were earnest as she looked down at him. “I would not seek to deceive you or try to give my brother an advantage. Thorin’s honor would not allow that, as you well know. And no one else of the company would seek to do that either, no matter the jests you may hear. I only hope you do not lock yourself away from us because you think we’ll make it unbearable for you. I will protect you from any of that, I promise.”

Chewing on his lip, Bilbo nodded. “Thank you, Dis. I have wanted to speak to you so badly, but I can’t manage to string two sentences together about this, let alone understand my own feelings. This was never supposed to happen this way, I never thought he’d.... and then Dain...”

Giving his shoulders an encouraging squeeze, Dis shook her head, the beads in her hair clinking together with the movement. “Not tonight. Tonight we celebrate and enjoy ourselves as much as possible. I am always here for you, and we can speak about whatever you like, whenever you like. For tonight, though, do not bother yourself with any of this.”

Bilbo nodded, and sat patiently as Dis put a small braid in his hair behind his ear. It was was long enough that it laid against his collarbone if pulled forward. She finished it off with a bead. Getting up to look in the mirror, he saw the bead was a lovely, yet simple piece of polished amber with one very glittery diamond set in the middle.

“My Yule gift for you, _bashag khazash_. Dwarves don’t really use amber all that much, given that it is a resin, and not actual stone. Resin comes from trees, and you know how much dwarves love trees. But the color suits you, and you are a child of nature, after all.”

“Bashag… kazash?” Bilbo tried to repeat.

Dis smiled. “Hobbit brother.”

* * *

 

It was a very good thing Bilbo had nothing against Dorwinion wine, and had managed to get himself properly snockered as soon as the solemn ceremony was over. He would not have tolerated this nonsense otherwise.

First of all, Bilbo was not sure who had thought it was a good idea to sit one dwarf king to the left of him, and one dwarf lord to the right, but he wanted to both kiss and strangle that person. He had approximately twenty or so different suspects, so that was a lot of people to potentially kiss and strangle. He also wanted to know who had allowed either of these idiots to get as drunk as him, and where they’d found enough alcohol to do that.

 

 

Miraculously, Bilbo hadn't caught either of them misbehaving towards each other all night, and that was as much a relief to him as it was unnerving. Perhaps it was the presence of Bard and his children, or Dis' hawk-like circling of the hall as she greeted and spoke with members of the council. They had both been eager to see him, Thorin especially, as they had not spoken with or seen each other for several days; but they both seemed to be putting in a considerable effort not to crowd him, at least. Neither of them tried to pull him aside or get him alone, and they paid as much attention to their guests and anyone who approached as much as they did BIlbo.

Repeatedly throughout the evening they would both put a hand on the back of Bilbo's chair, sometimes both at the same time. The heat of Dain's thigh pressed against his own was driving him madder than it should, and whenever he leaned in to talk to Bilbo, the hobbit had to remind himself that despite the drink and festivities, it was probably not a good idea to flirt back. Thorin was not being so bold as to allow any part of himself to touch Bilbo, but the hobbit would have been stupid to miss the vulnerable looks of yearning Thorin was giving him whenever he looked away.

When one would sit up and gaze over Bilbo's head to make a comment to the other in Khuzdul, Bilbo had to suppress a shiver at the sensation of being completely ensconced by the two powerful figures at his sides. The Lord of the Iron Hills looked striking in black robes trimmed in gold; a departure from his normally colorful wardrobe. Thorin made no departure from his usual colors, but his robes were finer than any Bilbo had yet seen him wear.

The nonsense had taken many forms that evening. Kili, Bain, Gimli, and Legolas had disappeared ages ago, and the fact that no one was concerned about that would normally be a concern to Bilbo. Bofur was intent being the evening’s entertainment (i.e., singing bawdy songs atop any elevated surface), Bifur had been following Tauriel and her two companions all evening, muttering at them in Khuzdul and cracking his knuckles repeatedly, and little Tilda had rallied every present dwarfling in the mountain and was currently engaging them all in some game that required them to run around the room and break out into shrieking giggle fits.

Poor Fili had been left behind, dutifully obliging subjects and council members alike, catching Bilbo’s sympathetic gaze from across the room several times. At least he had good company in Bard, who had a knack for discouraging people from approaching him with his dour demeanor.

Bilbo had lost track of the rest of the company early on in the night, and was just beginning to wonder where Dwalin and Ori might be, when those very two dwarves appeared in front of him with Balin and Dis. Balin clapped his hand on Dain’s shoulder, and Dis wove her arm around her brother’s, while Dwalin took the opportunity to throw his arm over Bilbo’s shoulder and pry him away toward the exit, despite the indignant protests of his two companions.

“Thought ye looked like ye needed a breather,” Dwalin uttered, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder as he steered him from the banquet hall.

Bilbo laughed, letting Dwalin lead him to the grand entrance for some fresh air. Bilbo had grown warm and tipsy enough that the shock of cold air was nothing but a relief.

“I must say Dwalin, you look very handsome tonight,” Bilbo grinned, hoping to instigate some loss of composure in the dwarf.

Dwalin smirked proudly instead. “Ye don’t look half bad yerself. A braid in your hair and a bead on your braid-”

“Ooh, lovely alliteration.”

“-jus’ take the hair from yer toes and put it on yer chin and you’d make… a very strange looking dwarf,” he finished.

Dwalin must have been a little deeper in his cups than Bilbo suspected. At least as much as him, anyway.

“A good thing it is, then, that I am a hobbit.”

Dwalin nodded. “Good thing you’re you, or who knows where we’d be.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be anyone else,” Bilbo giggled. Apparently he’d reached that stage. Dwalin gave him an appraising look.

“Let’s get you back inside,” he said with such concern that Bilbo could only laugh some more. He wondered if some of Dori wasn’t rubbing off on Dwalin.

“How is that going, by the way?” Bilbo asked, forgetting that the other half of that question had not been said aloud.

“What? Gettin’ you back inside?”

“No! Ori! The courting and… all that. I haven’t really heard anything from either of you since you-” he hiccuped at this point, “g-gave Ori the pens.”

Bilbo allowed himself to be steered back inside, his initial relief at the cold fading as his teeth began to chatter.

“S’good, good. Still trying to make up my mind about the home.”

“Oh?” Bilbo asked. “I haven’t read about that yet. What do you mean?”

“In the first stage of the… eh, negotiations, I suppose is the right word, it was determined that I would provide a home for us. I expected tha’, but I… The purpose of this is to show that I know what Ori would want in a home. Truth is, I don’t. I should, but we’ve not had… You know his brother never lets him out of his sight, and I can count the number of times we’ve been alone together since reclaiming the mountain on one hand.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “Well that is quite unfortunate.”

“Aye. I am content with the apartments Balin and I share. There is more than enough room, and it is of fine quality. But I know Dori will find some fault with it, and I don’t want Ori to think I don’t-”

“A library!” Bilbo squeaked suddenly, a bit louder than he intended. They got a couple stares from dwarves and men milling about in the halls outside of banquet.

“Eh?” Dwalin asked.

“He is the Master Scribe, after all. He wouldn’t be spending all his time in the library if he didn’t love it. He should have a library of his own in his home, so if nothing else, you can put some nice shelves in a spare room, can’t you? Oh except I know it will be a lot lovelier than shelves in a spare room, especially if you ask Dwimla, she’s put a very fine library in her own home. Or, or you could start from scratch if you think you should but just… well, is it a terrible idea? I don’t know, I’m probably sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong-”

Dwalin looked like he wanted to crush Bilbo in a hug. Instead he took him by the shoulders and thanked him.

“It’s a fine idea. I don’ know why I did not think of it m’self. Once again I find myself in your debt, Master Baggins.”

“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do after you helped me get a breath of fresh air!” Bilbo laughed.

“Aren’t you already courting someone?” Came the irritated voice of Thorin from behind them. Dain was with him.

Dwalin barked out a laugh and released the hobbit, but not before leaning forward and placing a gentle tap on Bilbo’s forehead with his own.

It was over before Bilbo could blink, and he stood back, shutting his mouth quickly and ducking his head as he saw Dwalin’s cheeks heat up despite the poor light in the hallway.

“Happy Yule, Bilbo.”

“And to you, Dwalin.”

Bilbo wondered briefly if this was payback for making Dwalin lose it in front of Balin over the pens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Khuzdul is, at the VERY least, questionable. If you know better, feel free to drop a comment with a correction!
> 
> Quest for Erebor live blogs:
> 
> exileddurin.tumblr.com/anonymoussong.tumblr.com  
> quiterespectablyyours.tumblr.com/evil-bones-mccoy.tumblr.com  
>  
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle-earth_calendar  
> Astron - March 23rd to April 21  
> Thrimidge - April 22 to May 21
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and kudos =sustenance!


	7. Secrets; Worms and Tokens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo sees another sight he will never forget.
> 
> Thorin remembers a connection despite his anger.
> 
> Dain never forgot it in the first place.
> 
> Dwimla provides valuable insight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Amity for her swift work! 
> 
> I adopted the the scene in the cave from a headcanon created by the-dragongirl on tumblr. It's based on a something found at Waitomo limestone caves on New Zealand’s northern island.
> 
> Hover over Khuzdul for translation. Mobile users - check out the notes at the end.
> 
> Thank you all from the bottom of my feet for all the positive feedback. :)
> 
> NEW: Check out the end of the first section for more amazing, gorgeous art from tosquinha!

Bilbo stared down at the note in his hand, the handwriting in Thorin’s familiar scrawl. The note had requested that Bilbo meet Thorin at the entrance to the treasury. He looked around awkwardly, and the guards eventually started staring at him while he waited for the king to arrive.

Finally, Thorin startled Bilbo by emerging from the treasury itself. "I am sorry to keep you waiting,” Thorin said, looking slightly winded, his hair a bit disheveled. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, and it appeared as though he’d been crawling through dirt, if the stains on said trousers were anything to go by.

“N-not at all… What _have_ you been up to?” Bilbo asked. The king did look quite fetching with a hint of perspiration on his brow, panting a little, and looking at Bilbo like he wanted to devour him. Having that undisguised expression of yearning on Thorin’s face directed at _him_ was going to take the hobbit some getting used to.

“If you’ll agree to join me, I’ll show you. I am sorry, I failed to warn you to wear simple clothes. I am taking you through a tunnel, and I do not wish for them to be ruined. Though I could have them replaced-”

Bilbo waved him off. “I’ve been covered from head to toe in troll boogers before, a little dust won’t hurt anything.”

At that, Thorin smiled brilliantly, and Bilbo swallowed hard as he followed Thorin into the treasury.

“Forgive me for bringing you here, but there’s no other way through yet,” Thorin offered as he lead Bilbo through the vast chamber. There was no longer gold and gems lying about in giant piles as there once was - the size of the treasure had been greatly reduced once they’d paid the men of Dale. Thorin had been generous with his aid even after that, sparing no expense to pay the employees from Laketown for their work, and diverting much of the outgoing treasure to Dale’s reconstruction.

Yes, Thorin had even returned the white gems to Thranduil, though he had refused to do it himself, and made no formal declarations that he had done it at all.

“There is no reason to apologize for bringing me here,” Bilbo said matter-of-factly.

Thorin nodded.

They wound their way through, and Bilbo admired the work on the new vaults as they went. The room was quite busy, considering it was perhaps the third most secured area in the mountain; the most secured areas being the nursery and school, followed by the royal wing. Dwarves were milling about all over the place, carrying scales and sitting at desks covered in small piles of treasure, keeping track of it all using abaci and squinting through jeweler’s glasses to assess the quality of their stones. Thorin was saluted and acknowledged by everyone they passed, a few of them nodding and bowing to Bilbo as well, much to his embarrassment.

Eventually Thorin led Bilbo to a doorway at the very back of the room. Behind it was a narrow staircase that seemed to go down for at least three stories. At the bottom of the staircase, there were several more halls leading off into different directions, and Thorin took the furthest one on the right. His stride was confident, which was somewhat amusing to Bilbo. How Thorin could keep his way through the maze of this mountain, yet lose his way to Bag End in the Shire, Bilbo could only guess.

The hallway went on for quite a while, and Thorin asked more than once if Bilbo was doing alright, and thanked him for being patient. In truth, Bilbo was just the slightest bit uncomfortable being this far underground. The hallway they were traversing had begun to slope as well, and Bilbo had started to feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Hobbits lived in the ground, but never _this_ far down. The Misty Mountains were nothing like Erebor, but Bilbo could not help being reminded of them.

“It’s not much further,” Thorin reassured him.

The light had dimmed considerably the further they went, as the polished hallway devolved into a rough path, and the walls around them began to look like raw stone. There were fewer torches placed further and further apart.

Finally, they reached the end of the hallway. There was nowhere else to go.

Then Thorin placed his hand on the rough stone wall in front of them and muttered something in Khuzdul.

Once again, Bilbo felt the ground underneath them vibrate, but unlike the entrance to Gloin’s home, instead of the whole wall giving way, a small opening appeared that led into a tunnel.

Thorin smiled at him hesitantly. “This was one of my very first doors I made as a dwarfling. It is only a short distance or so before it opens up again. I’ll go first so I can help you out the other side, if that is acceptable. It is dark in the tunnel, but there is light at the end, and I have cleared it of debris.”

Bilbo didn’t come all this way only to say no, so he nodded and waited for Thorin to climb in before following.

The ground was uneven and rough, but the hobbit managed well enough. Not that he would have been able to see much in the momentary pitch blackness of the tunnel, but Bilbo kept his gaze firmly trained on the bottom of Thorin’s boots ahead of him, rather than letting his eyes travel further up. True to Thorin’s promise, the darkness began to lift and he stopped when he heard Thorin say, “Here, just a moment.”

Thorin climbed out, then held his hand out to Bilbo, who took it. He brushed himself off as he stepped out of the tunnel.

He looked at the dwarf, who was looking at him. “So, just where have you brought me, Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thorin nodded, indicating Bilbo should look up. He did, and what he saw stole his breath.

"What… what is that?” he breathed.

The ceiling of the cave, which seemed to go up and up, was giving off an eerie, teal glow. It was a pulsing glow that got brighter, like twinkling starlight, then dimmed, like a waning ember in the hearth. It was enough of a glow to light the whole cavern, as there were no torches to be seen.

“I believe they are worms.”

Bilbo recoiled. “What?”

“Of a sort of… glowing variety, similar to silk worms,” Thorin said. “If anyone ever knew what they were precisely, the knowledge is lost. This cavern was discovered not long after Erebor was established by my ancestor, Thrain I. However, it was never developed or made public. An old teacher from my childhood showed it to me, and told me what little he knew of the creatures that have made their home up there. They require a very particular environment to survive, so my understanding is that this place was kept mostly secret in order to preserve it.”

Bilbo looked up again at the glowing ceiling, mesmerized, and feeling much less disgusted.

“I had almost forgotten this place existed. I would come here often as a boy, as not many others knew about it. I remember telling my father, but… Those were darker days than even I realized at the time, and he was often distracted.”

“Do you intend to keep it a secret?” Bilbo asked, hoping the answer was yes. He would hate to see such a natural wonder spoiled, even if unintentionally.

Thorin looked up at the ceiling, his handsome features bathed in the iridescence. “I think so, until sometime in the future when we can be assured that we will do these creatures no harm. Such a thing is unlikely to happen in my lifetime, as I am sure I will be rebuilding the mountain until I myself enter my creator’s halls. Beorn once accused dwarves of caring nothing for creatures smaller than themselves...” Thorin looked at Bilbo, “...I disagree.”

They were silent for a moment while Bilbo admired the ceiling, and Thorin admired Bilbo.

“Thank you for bringing me here, then. I am likely to be the only hobbit ever to lay eyes on this, I’d imagine. At least in this age.”

Thorin’s smile was almost unbearably kind, and it made Bilbo’s heart thump painfully inside his chest.

“If I do not have to apologize for bringing you to the treasury, then you do not have to thank me for bringing you here.”

Bilbo nibbled on his lip for a moment, debating his next words. “You know, we _do_ need to discuss that. And a few other things.”

“Don’t,” Thorin said suddenly, his expression more open and raw than Bilbo had ever seen it. “Please, grant me this time with you before you give me your decision.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ve made no decision, Thorin, and I must say I’m quite fed up with you scarpering off and avoiding this. Our last conversation did not exactly end on the best of terms, and I’d like to clear some things up about these alleged feelings of yours-”

“They are not alleged-“

“And I’m no more ready to give an answer to you than to Dain, though I have half a mind to tell you both to sod off! I can’t take your declaration seriously if you continue to tiptoe around me.”

It appeared that Thorin could not figure out which of the statements Bilbo had just made to cling to, so he stood there, silent.

“You’ve made this incredibly hard on me, do you know this? I thought there was no chance you could ever see me as anything more than a friend, and for some time I was not even sure I was that,” Bilbo started, finally summoning his indignation now that they they were finally talking. “I’ve been trying to come to terms with the fact that I would never love another, and that you would never love me, and the best I could do was remain by your side. Then your blasted cousin had to go and shove his way into my life like every other dwarf I’ve met and I can no more dismiss him than I can you. It’s already gone too far-”

“How far?” Thorin demanded, taking a step towards Bilbo.

Bilbo took a step back, his jaw dropping open in shock. “You can back right up, Thorin Oakenshield, and apologize this instant. You have no right to ask me such a thing, and if you ever do again-”

“I am sorry,” the king blurted out. “Bilbo, I am sorry. Please, you did not deserve that and it was unworthy of me. You are right. It will not happen again.”

Bilbo glared at him silently for a moment, Thorin’s pleading gaze finally dropping to the ground. The hobbit looked up at the ceiling, not half so enchanted anymore. He sighed. The Thorin who strutted around like a cock in a chicken coop calling respectable folks _grocers_ seemed a lifetime away from the kicked puppy that had been following him around lately.

Finally, Thorin muttered something, but Bilbo did not fully hear it.

“What?”

“You said… you love me.” Thorin dared to look up, and Bilbo’s heart started thumping painfully again.

“Yes,” Bilbo admitted, some of the heat from his anger dissipated. “And now that it comes to it, maybe now you will believe me when I tell you that I have forgiven myself and I have forgiven you, _unconditionally_. We do not need to avoid the treasury, you do not need to fear that I will abandon you, and for Eru’s sake…” Bilbo took a deep breath before continuing, “Put the damn Arkenstone back on the throne where it belongs because as long as you treat it like a dirty little secret, it will be one. The past will not be the thing that comes between us any longer, Thorin. I will not allow it.”

Thorin looked like a puff of air could shatter him. Perhaps Bilbo should have doled that out in pieces, but really, the hobbit had had enough.

“Do you mean there is something else that could come between us?” Thorin finally said, almost too softly for Bilbo to properly hear.

“Don’t start that. As I said, this mess is entirely your fault.”

Thorin nodded, looking for all the world like he wanted to keep going.

“Bilbo.”

“Yes?”

“I swear to you, I will respect your boundaries. I will wait for you, at your leisure. I know I risk everything by asking this, but I must speak plainly.”

Bilbo nodded for Thorin to continue. “Will you…  I…”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he waited for Thorin to find the words. Before his eyes, he saw the dwarf lose his courage and his shoulders droop.

“Never mind. I do not have the words worthy of you and I will not forgive myself if I offend you again. Let us return.”

Bilbo’s hand shot out to grab Thorin’s arm. “Don’t.”

Thorin hesitated for just a moment before the arm Bilbo had a hold of shrugged off his grip. Instead of turning to leave, the king crowded Bilbo’s space, and wrapped his other arm around Bilbo’s waist. He drew the hobbit close, close enough that their foreheads almost touched and their breath mingled.

“May I…?”

Bilbo’s answer was to tilt his head and rise up on the tips of his toes, and try not to make an embarrassing noise when Thorin’s lips finally covered his own.

 

 

 

* * *

 

“I’m surprised you still have that, let alone wear it. You know, I gave Kili one just like it. I thought of you at the time.”

Dain smiled and shrugged. “I dunnae take it off, really.”

“Does Thorin know?” Dis asked, as she poured Dain another cup of tea.

Dain made a dismissive noise and shook his head. “Of course no’. He’s been dead convinced-“

“DIS!” Thorin hollered as he burst into the parlor. He stopped short seeing that Dis was hosting their cousin.

“I can hear well enough, thank you,” she said primly. “Would you like to join us for a cup?”

Thorin’s distaste was evident, and Dain stood.

“Try that again,” Dis told her brother, holding her arm out in signal for Dain to stay.

“Pardon?” Thorin spat.

“I said, try that again. There is nothing acceptable about the way you just entered my parlor and interrupted our cousin, so I’m suggesting you try that again.”

Thorin snarled. “I am in no mood to be lectured by you as well. Do _not_ seek to undermine me in front of _him_.”

“It seems your brother and king needs to speak with you. I’ll show myself out.”

Thorin said nothing as Dain left. The king waited until he could no longer hear Dain’s iron foot striking the marble floor before he started to speak again.

“What was he doing here?”

Dis crossed her arms over her chest, her lips pursed, and her glare set. She ignored his question. “I will correct your ridiculous behavior as I see fit, and if this displeases you, I am happy to return to Ered Luin.”

“You cannot threaten to abandon Erebor because we have a disagreement -“

“And you cannot behave like a tyrant for any reason, ever! Do you have any idea what I just found out? No, you don’t, and you aren’t going to hear it from me. I’m through talking to you - go find Dain and ask him what he wears around his neck,” Dis said, waving him off as if he were no more than a young Kili begging for an extra sweet before dinner.

Thorin opened his mouth several times to begin a speech about speaking to a king that way, but the look on his sister’s face told him that any attempt would result in devastation.

He turned on his heel and stomped out of the royal wing, feeling further chastised, and very much like the wind had been taken from his sails. He had wanted to turn to his sister for advice, discuss the conversation he’d had with Bilbo, and how to handle the fact that Dain may have already… He’d…

But also, he had kissed Bilbo, and his mind was in disarray, his blood was pumping, and every nerve in his body felt like it had been lit on fire. Perhaps it would be a good idea to find Dain, though he did not care what his shameless cousin might have around his neck.

Unless it was Thorin’s hands.

 

 

* * *

 

“YOU.”

Dain only had enough time to set his pipe on the ledge of the battlements, out of harm’s way, before a powerful fist came flying at his face. He was able to avoid it by stumbling back, but only just barely. “What-“ he stumbled back a bit further, trying to keep out of Thorin’s reach, but running out of room, “-about me?”

Dain spared a glance for the two guards on duty who were, technically, his own soldiers.

“Thorin, get a hold of yourself. Those are my boys on guard and they won’t stand by for much longer whether I order ‘em to or no’.”

“Are you threatening me?” Thorin snarled.

Dain almost laughed at that, as Thorin was the one who had attacked him without any warning in front of his own damn soldiers. “I would never, and I wish you knew that. We can wrestle all you want, I’ll even get back in the ring with you. But I won’t fight you like this, Thorin. So either talk, or let’s get down to the barracks, where I can be sure my soldiers won’t bother us.”

“You think this is your mountain? You think you can take this from me? Do you think I would let you take _him_ from me? I took back this mountain while you sat on your arse and did _nothing_!“

Dain was a patient dwarf, but he’d never had Frerin’s patience. He reminded Thorin of this by grabbing him by his tunic and using the momentum his bulk gave him to back the smaller dwarf up against the wall. He ground out, “Boys, you are dismissed.”

The soldiers saluted and left.

“Now,” Dain growled as Thorin seethed against his grip. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

Dain pushed off of Thorin and took several steps back until he stood against the wall of the ledge. He was relieved then Thorin did not make a move toward him.

Sighing, but not taking his eyes off his cousin, Dain reached for his pipe again.

“So tell me what’s crawled up yer backside.”

“You laid your hands on him,” Thorin said, his voice low and his eyes flashing.

Dain tilted his head curiously and patted his tunic for a match. “I don’t follow.”

“If you will not speak honestly, then I suggest we do go down to the barracks, though now that your muscle is gone I see no reason we cannot proceed here.”

Dain sighed and rolled his eyes, finally locating a match. “Don’t accuse me of lying, cousin. If I said I dunnae follow, then I dunnae follow. Who did I lay hands on and in what way? Do you mean I was too rough sparring with Fili today? You cannae mean Bilbo.”

“That is precisely who I mean!” Thorin snarled.

“I refuse to believe Bilbo would falsely accuse me of assaulting him, so you have it wrong,” Dain informed him simply.

“He said so himself that what was between the two of you had already gone too far.”

If Thorin got any angrier, Dain was worried his face would turn purple and he’d pass out. Then he’d have to drag his cousin’s sorry carcass back inside.

Dain knew better, but he could not help himself; he chuckled.

“Those were his words? Nothing else?”

Dain took Thorin’s silence as confirmation. Thoughtfully, the red haired dwarf puffed on his pipe a few times before offering it to Thorin, who looked as though Dain had just slapped him instead of offered to share his leaf.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’. Well, that’s quite a tizzy you’ve worked yourself into for no good reason. I thank you for informing me, as I did not know Bilbo felt that way about us. I must finally be getting through that stuffy little wall he’s got put up so well. I didnae even have to lay a finger on him to do it.”

Thorin’s anger was slowly melting into confusion. Dain just waited and continued puffing away on his pipe.

“You have not?”

“Not that it's your business, but no. Not even an embrace. I may have brushed up against him a few times, and maybe it wasn’t an accident, but at this rate, Dwalin’s been more successful _layin’ his hands on him_ than me. Then there’s you. I’ve heard the stories. You dunnae see me losing my head over it, though.”

Seeing that Thorin was going to need a moment to compose himself, Dain turned his back to him and leaned out over the battlements, sending out a few impressive smoke rings into the cold night air.

Eventually, he heard Thorin sigh. His older cousin was grumbling under his breath as he stood next to him, holding his hand out for the pipe, rather petulantly. Hiding his grin, Dain relinquished it.

“What damn thing have you got around your neck?” Thorin asked after a long silence.

Dain shook his head, sighing. “Your damn sister…”

That was all Dain said for a while. Of course he and Dis had only spoken of it for a moment before Thorin interrupted them, and he’d not had the time to tell Dis he’d rather not have Thorin knowing.

With great reluctance, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a thin gold chain. On the end of it was a polished black stone with runes carved on one side. It said, _Khâzash_.  

Thorin took one look at it and groaned. He dropped his head into his hands and growled, then he kicked the battlement wall, roaring all his pent up anger and frustration into the night.

When the echoes of Thorin’s tantrum subsided, he asked angrily, “Why do you still have that damn thing Dain?”

Dain shook his head. “Because my regard for you has only ever increased.”

Thorin sighed, and Dain looked at him. His cousin looked defeated.

“Now don’t with… that. Save that look for him, you’re gonna need it. Ugh,” Dain affected an exaggerated shiver, not able to sustain that pitiful gaze any longer.

“Dain, I-“

“I wanted to give you support and space and time,” Dain interrupted, shaking his head again. “I knew you’d grown to resent me over the years, but I was always holding out for the day when I could right the wrongs and earn your friendship once again. You gave this to me after Azanulbizar and I never once took that for granted. It’s where you lost your actual brother, and I wanted to earn it. There’s no point in rehashing every instance where I had to turn you down and know your people suffered for it. Just know that it was never what I wanted. And I certainly never expected any of this to happen. How was I to know there’d be a fussy little hobbit with a pretty face and all the fire to match who would make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of again? I didn’t know you’d keep me at arm’s length because you felt threatened by me. I’ve just been waiting and waiting, Thorin, and things have been happening while I’ve been waiting. Things I didnae intend.”

Thorin stared at the red embers in the pipe as they began to die.

Dain went on. “I know you dunnae see me that way anymore, but you have always been my brother, _uzbade_. And since this seems as good an opportunity to humiliate myself as any, I will go further and say that I’ve never stopped looking up to you. Never.”

The lord of the Iron Hills sighed and ran a hand over his face. He wished he’d said that a long time ago, but the aftermath of the battle and the importance of the reconstruction… He understood better than most where Thorin was coming from, always feeling like personal relationships were trumped by the importance of what they were doing for their kingdoms.

“It is of such poor craftsmanship,” Thorin said after a time. “If you’re going to insist on wearing it, continue to keep it out of sight, for your sake and mine.”

Dain chuckled. “What? Are you concerned your people will be ashamed of ickle King Thorin and the charm he made for his little cousin when they were dwarflings?”

Thorin groaned. “I have faults enough as it is. I do not need any more on display.”

“Do ye regret giving it to me?”

“No.” Thorin looked at his cousin. “I regret that I have not been a better brother to you.”

Dain sighed. “Of course you do. And I bet you regret that your hair is black, as some folks dunnae prefer it. And lets not forget the fact that you reclaimed this mountain. You’re causing an awful lot of work for a lot of people. I mean, sure, you are givin’ your people a home and lasting security and restoring the watchtower of the East, but really, you are such a pain in the arse.”

Thorin blinked several times before the laughter burst from his chest like water from a dam.

 

 

* * *

 

“So, Master Ori, do tell me how everything is fairing with you and the very handsome king’s guard?” Dwimla asked as she plucked a warm scone from the platter in the middle of their too-small table, and slathered it in jam. Bilbo had been forced to quit making the seed cakes due to a lack of supplies, but only he and Thorin’s had noticed or complained.

Ori huffed. “I think we need to marry my brother off.”

Bilbo hummed. “I suppose that would be one way to get Dori’s attention off you, but I didn’t think Nori was attached to anyone?”

“No, no, not Nori. Good _luck_ marrying him off. No, I mean Dori. We need Dori to marry or _I_ will never get married. He’s going to chase Dwalin off and even if he doesn’t, he’ll micromanage my marriage to the point that Dwalin will have to go back on his vows or risk going insane. I’m not even sure that going to Khazad-dum would be far enough away from him at this point.”

Dwimla nodded sympathetically. “My older brother, Mahal rest him, was perhaps as bad as your brother. You can imagine his reaction when I told him I was being courted by two suitors. We managed to get through it, but not before I had several physical altercations with him, and he with my suitors. Once, Gloin was a bit too deep in his cups and punched Drockla so hard in the mouth he knocked out two teeth. When he finally gave his blessing for our union, Gloin made him the finest pair of diamond embedded gold teeth that he wore to the day he returned to Mahal.”

Ori groaned. “I love Dwalin, but we all know who would win in a fight. I’m just trying so desperately to keep it from getting to that point.”

Dwimla cast a knowing smirk at Bilbo, who scowled at her and didn’t say anything about the tenuous situation between his own suitors.

Being ever the practical problem solver, Dwimla asked, “Has he made any attempts to sideline the milestones?”

“No, no, but I _would_ just about do anything for an evening alone with him. I keep trying to talk Bilbo into holding the next meeting of the Guilds at sundown, but apparently Master Baggins’ dinner and supper are too important to interrupt for the sake of my current or future happiness.”

Bilbo hid his nonchalant expression behind his fine china and said lightly, “I do believe I’ve contributed quite a great deal to your current and future happiness already.”

“Come now, Master Baggins. You should not be so ungenerous just because your own situation is only slightly less stressful,” Gloin’s wife reminded him.

Bilbo sat up rigidly and set his cup of tea back on its saucer, his shoulders drawing up as he prepared to speak, reminding the dwarves very much of a puffed upped raven as he did so. “I would just _like_ to hear the argument that says Dori’s well-intended pestering is worse than being courted by two dwarves at the same time, both royalty of the line of Durin, no less!”

“My future husband is _also_ from the line of Durin,” Ori countered.

“Well we all share that affliction, gentlemen, no need to have a contest about it,” Dwimla reminded them. “At any rate, you aren’t even technically courting either of them, yet. Not as dwarves measure these things. They have challenged each other in combat, as is tradition. An unusual outcome, but that matters not. I have wondered if they hesitate since you are a particularly difficult individual to give gifts to.”

Bilbo snorted. He always had been. His family was very well off, and he’d never wanted for anything (except for the Fell Winter, but that was not for lack of money). Bilbo had always enjoyed his birthday best out of all of all the celebrations on the Shire Calendar, as it gave him the chance to give _out_ gifts. When his birthday came last year, he made it very clear that he would not accept anything, as was the dwarrow tradition, and that they would honor the Shire way.

And by dwarrow tradition, Bilbo really meant the every day occurrence, or habit, of their generous gift-giving. Honestly, if he hadn’t been a bit rude about it, the piles outside his door would just have kept getting bigger and bigger. And Fili and Kili were the worst. Every time they came across some bizarre or interesting bauble in the treasury, they’d give it to Uncle Bilbo. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he’d been secretly taking it all back to the very understanding tellers.

“What am I supposed to do about that? I’ve only just seen Thorin again this morning for the first time since the banquet, and we hadn’t spoken really for several days before that. And Dain…” Bilbo couldn’t help the strange feeling in his chest that bubbled up whenever he thought of Dain lately. “I’ve seen Dain _every_ day since the last time I spoke to Thorin. He’s just… there. I know why. _He_ knows why. But we keep dancing around it.”

Dwimla seemed to be mulling this over and a silence fell upon the group while each was deep in their own thoughts. After picking her ample beard clean of crumbs, the dwarrowdam finished off her cup of tea and sighed, content.

“Well, it’s a long shot, but I did say I was here to help,” she gave Ori and Bilbo both the same look Balin gave them when he thought he was humoring them. “There are times, like now, for instance, when you find yourself faced with an individual, or group of individuals, who are…” She waved her hand several times as she grasped for the words, then held up a thick, bejeweled finger when she found them, “currently behaving as though they possess less than average intelligence.”

Bilbo and Ori both cocked their heads in unison at the same time, and the endearing affect this had on it’s audience had Dwimla chuckling before she continued.

“I know His Majesty and Lord Dain to be very cunning, brave, honorable dwarves. I have no doubts about their long term intelligence. In the short term, they’ve gone a bit daft in my opinion.”

She paused again, to ensure that Bilbo and Ori were following her. “I’ve known them both since we were all wee dwarflings. It is not like them to ignore the conflict between themselves. They’ve always been very direct and honest with each other, to the point of ridiculousness at times. I don’t know if it’s the line of Durin, or just dwarves, but they choose the most inopportune moments to just get so _stupid_ about their own feelings.”

Again, she waited to see that Bilbo and Ori were following.

“So, as I offered my assistance to Master Baggins, so should we find someone to lead those two idiots by their noses through the proper courtship steps. In truth, I was waiting to see if Princess Diss would assume the mantle, but for whatever reason, she has avoided it.”

She paused for another moment and looked at Ori. “Lad, I have great respect for your family and gratitude for all that you and yours have done for Erebor. So I beg that you will not take offense at what I am about to suggest about your brother.”

Ori raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

“Would I be wrong in suggesting that Master Dori greatly enjoys being flattered?”

Both of Ori’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “Well, yes. That’s no great secret, and I certainly don’t take offense.”

Dwimla smiled. “I wish to use this particular trait to our advantage. I will suggest to Dain and Thorin that if either of them desire to have a successful courtship with Bilbo, that they should retain Dori to represent them in this endeavor. Balin is busy with Dwalin, and Nori is available to fill Dori’s role to represent _your_ interests, Ori. It will give you a chance to involve him in these proceedings anyway.”

She looked at Bilbo. “I don’t see Dori turning down a request from King Thorin and Lord Dain, on bended knee no less, as that is likely how it will be delivered.”

Ori seemed to be pondering this with great optimism, but Bilbo didn’t wonder if that was just the desperation talking. It seemed like a long shot to him. Dain and Thorin both knew how Dori was in the Guild negotiations, and that was nothing compared to how he acted towards Ori. Only a fool tried to put themselves under Dori’s eternally disapproving gaze.

Dwimla sensed Bilbo’s skepticism. “Oh they _will_ beg him, Bilbo. If my husband were here, he’d have the ledger filled out already. And just remember this; Dori retains more knowledge of our traditions regarding courtship and marriage than anyone else. If there is any hope for either of those two, it will be found in Dori.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure he wanted her to be right. After the banquet, Bilbo had experienced a rather nasty case of remorse that had little to do with his hangover. What he should have done from the get go was set them both down and tell them how this was all nonsense and he wasn’t courting anyone so they’d both better drop it.

He just could not find it in himself to do that, and he felt cruel and helpless in equal measure. Never before had he felt something that he had no ability to explain, that was so incomprehensible that he could barely stand to think about it. Only grief came close.

Had he betrayed Thorin? Was he teasing Dain? Why hadn’t the Baggins in him reasserted itself long ago and put a stop to all this flirting and distracting business? Who did he think he was, he often asked himself, the voice in his head sounding incredibly like Lobelia.

Shaking off the maudlin thought for the moment, he sighed and said, “First we must secure Nori’s cooperation. What do you think, Ori? Will he agree easily, or will it require some persuasion?”

Ori smiled. “It won’t be a problem.”

 

 

* * *

 

 _“_ _Dear Mister Bilbo,_

_A happy new year to you! Thank you for your right lovely letter. It eases Bell’s and my heart to know that yer doing so well in such a faraway land. Cora could barely contain herself when she read that you were gifting us Bella’s crockery. What a fine, generous gift! I shan’t take you up on your offer to go through your wine stores until you’ve returned. I know quite well that you’ve got vintages in there older than the Old Took, and I’d never forgive myself if wasted anything._

_We had a large group of dwarves from the Blue Mountains pass through Hobbiton just last week. It was me and the wife’s pleasure to host a few of them for a night, though we are still the topic of gossip for it! Not that we mind at all. Right curious they were to get a look at Bag End. I gave them the walk around of your gardens, as I didn’t think you’d mind. They were very curious to know our ways, and all about you, Mr. Bilbo!_

_Speaking of the garden, I have a good feeling about our tomatoes this year! I couldn’t tell you what it is, exactly, as I haven’t even planted them yet, just something in my bones._

_I’ve contracted Berilac Boffin to complete the list of renovations you’ve sent. He assured me that everything will be completed well before your expected arrival. I promise you, Mr. Bilbo, I will oversee every strike of the hammer he lays in your home. You can count on me!_

_I’ve included the invitation to Drogo’s wedding with this letter. It promises to be a splendid celebration as ever there was. He did want me to mention to you that, should you see Mr. Gandalf any time soon, his presence and fireworks are also invited to the wedding. He promises plenty of Southfarthing in return for securing the wizard’s presence._

_We look forward to your arrival, Mr. Bilbo! If we do not exchange letters again before then, I wish you the safest of travels._

_Please give Mr. Ironfoot our regards._

 

_May the hair on your toes grow ever longer,_

_Hamfast Gamgee_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kazash - Brother  
> Uzbade - my lord
> 
>  
> 
> Fluff is so difficult for me to write, which is so ironic, because I am NASTY, and can easily crank out 15 pages of smut in like an hour (just kidding no really actually yes).
> 
> Let me know what you think? Or leave a kudos!


	8. Lords of the Nap Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Dáin plead their case. The dwarflings just wants a story and a nap. And, as you'll see, the princes of Mirkwood and Erebor, the Mirkwood's captain of the guard, and Gimli, have absolutely nothing better to do with their time. Nope. Not at all.
> 
> And then Gandalf showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *attempts to be brief*
> 
> I'll be doing some cleaning up of the previous chapters. Note that the spelling of Dáin's name changed this chapter (first on the list of things to correct in previous chapters). If you've noticed something that bugs you, feel free to send me a private message. 
> 
> I've noticed the recurring headcanon/trope that there is a Ri family ancestor who did the do with a king generations back, and their family has been a bit of a pariah in society ever since. As I've made it my personal goal to include as many tropes in this story as possible, I thought, eh? Why not? But this is my acknowledgement that this is not my original idea, and I have no idea who I'd credit it to. If you do, please send me a message. I'd appreciate it!
> 
> *Journey's Don't Stop Believin' starts playing in the background*
> 
> So far this has been an incredibly positive experience for me (and hopefully my co-conspirators as well). Thank you all. I notice and appreciate - and live parasitically off the life force of - everyone that reads this, whether you comment or leave a kudos or not. But since I am a reasonable psychic vampire, I take your constructive criticism and comments to heart. Thanks for all the kudos and feedback in general, I truly appreciate the generosity.
> 
> OK. tosquinha has completed several new pieces, two of which were added to previous chapters (see Ch. 7 for Thorin/Bilbo in the glowy caves, and Ch. 6 for a BEAUTIFUL portrait of Dwimla). There is a piece for this chapter as well, AND a little doodle fanart of Momma Dwimla and wee Gimli. I am so grateful to be collaborating with such a talented artist and genuinely good human being. She has been very generous with her time and support. Go admire her pretty art on tumblr and commission her!
> 
> (Hang in there, almost done.) I want again to acknowledge determamfidd and her glorious epic, Sansûkh. I expressed my concerns to her that, in many ways, her story is more the foundation for what I've built upon than actual Tolkien source material. She was kind enough to respond and agreed that a generalized statement (i.e., what I'm writing now) crediting her work as my general inspiration would suffice (if I was concerned, which I was). *phew*
> 
> Lastly (you're all so patient!), my sincere thanks to Amity for polishing this turd into a diamond. I have no more honest words to express my gratitude and affection. You are a miracle worker.

 

 

 

 

January 22nd, the beginning of _Solmath_ *

 

“To be honest, the situation could use an experienced hand and a level head.”

“An _objective_ head.”

“We need information about hobbit courtship.”

“It would help us afford him and his kin’s traditions the proper respect.”

“Please, Master Dori.”

“We need your help.“

Dori stood in his evening robe in the middle of his receiving room while the two lords tried to impress upon him the gravity of the situation by leveling their most pleadingly intense expressions at him.

The eldest ‘Ri brother found it quite unsettling. Nori thought it was hilarious. Ori hushed the middle brother and prodded the older to snap him out of his stupor.

Dori seemed to come to and cleared his throat.

“I couldn’t possibly, Your Majesties.” He had the audacity to sniff, to Ori’s utter horror. “I’m far too consumed with keeping Ori’s disaster of an engagement respectable-“

Ori’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened comically. At least Nori thought so, as his covered snorts of laughter turned into guffaws.

“-and on track. Not to mention my duties for Erebor. No, I’m afraid I’m quite unavailable.“

Thorin’s jaw clenched, and he exhaled through his nose slowly. Even Dáin was irritated enough to cross his arms over his chest and shift his weight from his good leg to his iron one, muttering a “tch”.

“What on middle earth has gotten into you, Dori?” Ori demanded. “You are being asked by your _king_ to perform a time honored, _sacred_ duty for them - a position that would normally only be afforded to kin!”

Dori’s balled up fists shot up straight to his hips, and he reared back in indignation. “If that is the only qualification, then we should hardly feel special! I’m happy to expound on that subject, since you brought it up!”

He turned back to Dáin and Thorin. “I’ve held my tongue for long enough, now that it comes to it. Our family has always been shunned by the line of Durin and denied our rightful place in the line of succession. We risked our lives on the quest, helped to retake the mountain and have all played integral roles in the reconstruction of our home land, and _still_ not a peep out of the royal family about our heritage-“

“Well if that’s all ye’ve got twistin’ yer balls, then we’ll make it official!” Dáin thundered. “It’s no’ like you need approval from all the damn dwarf lords. Someone get me a ruddy piece of parchment-“

Dori balked. “I will not have our official decree being put down on some _ruddy piece of parchment_! And I want an official announcement with a ceremony, and a new sigil design incorporating the Ri family crest with the crest of Durin. And I want the document by tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll carve you a damned statue of Gwengar myself,” Thorin said. “You will have what you request, and an honored place in our history.”

Dori sniffed again, taking a moment to consider their offer, as if he found it paltry at best.

“You will have to allot more personnel to Nori to fill in for his absences, as he will obviously have to be the one to stand in for me with this one.” He flapped his hand in Ori’s direction.

Thorin nodded a little too quickly.

Dori gave one final sniff and a dramatic turn on his heel and said, “Meet me in the conservatory immediately after council tomorrow morning. I’m afraid you’ll have to skip second breakfast, Your Majesties.”

 

 

* * *

 

“And here’s Mister Bilbo for story time! Say hello everyone! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, Bilbo!” Wrenli pulled Bilbo tight to her frame in an almost severe embrace and quickly let go, as she had to step away to pluck her particularly ambitious toddler from atop the counter where she had managed to climb. She got a smack in the face and a beautiful little giggle from her daughter for her efforts.

Wrenli just muttered sweetly in Khuzdul and brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. It was then she noticed the large figure hesitating in the doorway.

“My lord! I am sorry, I did not see you. Is there something I can help you with?”

Dáin stepped through the door and Bilbo made a dismissive sound, reaching out his arms to take little Gamak.

“I’ve been told that it’s story time, which is likely to be followed by nap time. I could never say no to a tale and a kip.”

“Well, in that case, the children would love to hear a good, _long_ story from Mister Bilbo. They’ve been asking every day since I told them. Even,” she raised her eyebrows conspiratorially, “young Master Bru.”

Bru, short for Brugen, was a young lad of just ten years, and had shown a strong interest in all things hobbit and/or Bilbo-related. He still spent the mornings with Wrenli and the small children, after which he went home to his parents. His education was up to them for now, until he was old enough to join the four other tweens that had made it to Erebor with their families so far. It was a system that had been created for the situation in Ered Luin, and not at all what they hoped their final education and childcare institution would look like. For now, they made do.

Bilbo shooed Wrenli off quietly for a much deserved break, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that the children’s normal caretaker was leaving at all. Together, he and Dáin took stock of their wards and quickly had everyone settled down for story time.

There were thirteen dwarrow in his care for the next few hours, including Dáin. He smiled, thinking how appropriate it was that he should make the new little company total fourteen.

 

* * *

 

“Then, King Thorin gave the hobbit a home in the mountain, and he lived there quite happily to the end of his days. Though, occasionally, he visited the Shire, because he was a Baggins, and Rivendell - and traveled quite a good deal actually - because he was Took.”

“And the Iron Hills, because he was a dwarf-friend,” Dáin added, throwing Bilbo a saucy wink, some of the flirtiness of that gesture softened by the coo of the sleeping infant cradled gently in his powerful arms. Bilbo snorted and looked around, careful not to disturb the sleeping Gamak in his arms. All but two of their audience was asleep; Bru and Tah (eight years old, Bilbo thought he’d heard, and the only other female dwarfling in Erebor besides Gamak) were still listening intently.

“Ought to get these tykes to bed,” Dáin said softly, shifting Bombur’s youngest son, Gomgur, in his arms.

Bilbo agreed, trying not to be so entirely twitterpated at seeing Dáin’s paternal side displayed so naturally. He’d spoken of his son, called Thorin Stonehelm, regularly, but it was often in regards to matters of state. A few stories of raising the boy had come up, to be sure. Yet seeing such tenderness first hand was a surprisingly lovely thing.

The hobbit got up slowly, and delicately tip toed around the sleeping dwarflings on the floor, preparing to lead Dáin back to the nap room. The dwarf surprised him when he seemed to know his own way, swaying just slightly and humming some lullaby as he went.

“I see you know your way around,” Bilbo whispered, following Dáin.

“The queen used to barricade me and wee Thorin in that room when we refused to go down for a nap. I dunnae exactly remember it, but I have a vague memory of this room from when I was a tot. Of course, I’ve been down here a time or two since the mountain was reclaimed, wanting to relive my glory days as lordling of the nap room.”

Gamak was placed on a small bed that would have fit Bilbo quite comfortably in a pinch. Dáin gently placed Gomgur in a crib and admired him for a moment.

“Thorin was big like that one… not big Thorin. I mean, you know who I mean. _My_ son Thorin.”

Bilbo smiled at the fond look on Dáin’s face. He always did that little verbal dance whenever speaking of Thorin III, making sure it was clear who he was speaking of.

Then Tah, yawning deeply and rubbing her eyes, wandered in with little Mogig, and Bilbo got them settled before they began a slow, quiet relay, collecting sleeping dwarflings from the play room and transferring them to the nap room, one by one.

Bilbo didn’t question Dáin’s presence and soft conversation. He wasn’t even sure how Dáin had known he’d made this arrangement with Wrenli to sit with her charges for the afternoon. He’d only been glad to find him at his door just before he was due to set off, asking if he would like some company on his adventure.

“You’ve a way with them,” Dáin said after they’d settled themselves for a cup of tea in the tiny kitchen. “I’ve heard you speak fondly of the… Fauns?”

“Fauntlings,” Bilbo corrected, and the vision of a bright spring day outside Bag End, fauntlings giggling and screaming as they ran past his door, flashed through his mind. It was a game Bilbo played every year, winning the hearts of the fauntlings over again. Their parents spent the long winter months muttering about strange Mister Bilbo. "That Mad Baggins," they'd call him. "Queer as plums on an apple tree," they'd whisper, and hush their children when they repeated their words. The first days of spring were a battlefield, Bilbo versus the rumors, and the prize was the trust of the little ones. Bilbo baked pies with the windows opened, left his garden gate ajar, and carefully ignored the sprites as they peeked through the fences and bushes at him. Eventually their courage would return, and they'd begin speaking to him again, and by the following week his smial would be overrun. The rest of the summer would be filled with those same unrepentant parents coming around in the evening asking if Mister Bilbo was at all interested in taking little Tigerlily or Moro for the afternoon while Mrs. So and So when to the market.

“Aye, fauntlings. I’ve formed the distinct impression that you would prefer their company to most of your neighbors.”

Bilbo shrugged and didn’t bother to deny it. With just a few exceptions he could think of, the statement was true. “I don’t seem to have any trouble getting on with folks here, and I suppose that’s all that matters. I think I shall always stay away from the Shire long enough to start to miss it, and then make my way back. An extended holiday from overbearing neighbors will make it all the more easy to bear them when I do return.”

“Did you never want any little ones of your own?” Bilbo took a breath, and stalled on his answer. The explanation always sounded so inevitably pathetic to his own ears, thus he did not relish explaining it. On the other hand, this was new territory for their conversation, and perhaps a little too eagerly, Bilbo found himself excited at the prospect of… broadening the nature of their discourse.

“Well… I think I would have quite liked that, but never worked out.”

Dáin raised an eyebrow, then seemed to consider whether he wanted to prod Bilbo for more information. The hobbit could already see the edges of pity forming in his eyes, and that was what he hated the most.

“Their loss, then. Look at you now; taking care of an entire mountain of dwarves.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got us all by our noses, wiping our tears, mending our scratches, making sure we dunnae start any more wars. _Feedin’_ us, for Mahal’s sake.”

“Oh for all the- stop being ridiculous,” Bilbo snapped, the tips of his ears heating up. “These little speeches of yours will drive me to the end of my wits.”

“You just-”

“Can’t take a compliment? We’re both quite aware of that, thank you very much. We’ve had this discussion before, Dáin. We keep having this discussion, if you haven’t noticed.”

That silenced Dáin, and for a moment Bilbo’s heart - or stomach - he wasn’t sure, was in his throat, and he feared he’d been unduly harsh.

However, Dáin just leaned forward in his chair, and said, “Is there some other conversation you’d like to have, Bilbo?”

Elbows on the table, he rested his chin on his fist and his blue eyes were fixed on Bilbo’s. The kitchen was small and Bilbo was small, but Dáin was large. He hadn’t _quite_ invaded Bilbo’s personal space, what with the table between them, but the proximity was a significant shift regardless. Bilbo swallowed, heart - or stomach? - back in its place, thankfully, but now it seemed it had filled with bats, and his throat was painfully tight.

The hobbit bit the inside of his lip defiantly and soldiered on. “Why are you doing this? And don’t give me the speech. I want the real answer.”

Dáin’s expression lost a little of its usual playfulness. He sat back and seemed to consider his words. Bilbo tried to breathe steadily while his heart thumped loudly in his chest.

“I have no One.” Bilbo blinked, mishearing it at first. It clicked just a second later, that he was talking about the Dwarven phenomena of sharing a bond with a specific individual. Ori had informed him of the basic concept, but much of the experience was, according to the Master Scribe, difficult to translate from Khuzdul into Westron.

“Nonetheless, my bond with my son’s mother was as strong as any. Her loss… Ah, well, what I’m gettin’ at is this. I was a lucky enough bastard to love once. You are worth makin’ a fool of myself over, if I must. I never thought I would find companionship in someone who brought me so much contentment after I lost her. And I cannae bear the thought of living the rest of my life with you in it to sass me at every turn-”

“You’re giving me a speech again.”

“Damn it, Bilbo, dunnae tell me not to give you a speech, then ask me how I feel about ye! You’re gonna get a damned ballad every time.”

Bilbo swallowed again. He’d asked for the truth and now he had it. Admittedly, he didn’t know what to say. Not just in this moment, but at all, about any of it. Thorin loved him, and Bilbo didn’t want to punish him - that wasn’t what this was about. Yet here was Dáin, saying things that Bilbo had no answer to. His heart was pounding and a part of him was elated. The other part of him was incredibly angry he’d bullied his way into having this conversation.

He took a deep breath. “I can’t turn away from you. That is all I can really understand about any of this. I don’t know what gives me the right to-”

“Stop. Do not go any further.”

Bilbo stopped.

“I’m surprised you’ve no’ had this conversation with Dwimla yet, but I suppose she does things in her own time,” Dáin bowed his head for a moment before looking back up. “Having multiple suitors at once is no cause for shame. Tis a compliment and an honor.”

Bilbo scoffed.

“You will have noticed that no one has made any attempt to speak against this. Rules are in place to guide courtships that are comprised of a variety of dynamics, and those would not exist if our culture outright rejected the same things the race of Men do. I dunnae know what the elves get up to and I dunnae care.” Dáin seemed a little tired just then, but he straightened his back once more and said, “Dwarrowdams are rare; it is almost expected one will be pursued by multiple suitors through the course of her life. You are a being of rare quality, and though obviously not a dwarrowdam, you’ll find there is likely no one in this mountain who could claim they are at all surprised with these turn of events.”

Bilbo shook his head, fixing his gaze on his cooling cup of tea for a long while. “I can’t- I don’t…”

He looked up, his gaze a silent plea, begging Dáin to understand the feelings roiling within Bilbo, feelings that Bilbo didn’t even understand himself.

He could not hurt Thorin. But he could not walk away from Dáin. He could easily imagine refusing them both to spare them and himself from all of this. He would always allow that to be an option. And if he had to flee Erebor, he always had the Shire. Or anywhere, really, since he’d proven himself capable of surviving in quite a variety of places in the last two years.

Of course, he hoped such things would never come to pass.

Dáin went on. “Just understand that you dunnae owe anyone an explanation as you were about to give me. I know about your history with Thorin. I’d be a fool not to see that you love him. And even that part of you is something I cherish.” The dwarf chuckled wryly. “I’m no’ doing this because of my surety of your regard for me. I declared my intent because I must follow my own mind and heart. The burden is on myself to convince you that I can please you better than my cousin.” He shrugged. “And I will. The way I see it, the farther Thorin and I both get in this courtship, the better chance I have that you’ll choose me in the end. I know if you had to choose now, you’d choose him. No point denyin’ that.”

Bilbo blushed, realizing, suddenly, what Dáin was saying.

Leaning back, he said indifferently, “You’re confused? Take aaaall the time in the world. Thorin innae goin’ anywhere, nor am I. Believe me, we’ll both be as patient and flexible as you need.”

“A-are you saying- that is, am I to take it that you’re-” Dáin stood, his chair scraping the floor loudly. He walked over to Bilbo’s seat, placing one hand on the table and the other on the back of Bilbo’s chair, his large body framing the small hobbit.

The hairs on the back of Bilbo’s neck stood on end and he was at war with himself over whether to fall backwards out of his chair and scramble away, or stand his ground.

Dáin leaned close, descending to eye level with Bilbo. “If we make rules about you not kissin’ him, then there will be rules about me not kissin’ you. I cannae have that. So a dwarf must make compromises where he must.”

Bilbo's gaze met Dain's cautiously, and once again he was enveloped by the heat coming off the lord. There was, perhaps, an inch or two between them. Their noses brushed as one of them swayed forward, Bilbo wasn’t sure who, and his lips parted just barely as he inhaled sharply at the touch.

“Will you need to make any rules like that, Bilbo?” Dáin breathed.

 

 

Bilbo leaned forward the few inches it took to seal their lips together.

A thick arm quickly wound it’s way around him and he was lifted from the chair as if he weighed nothing.

He was about to throw a knee into the dwarf for the sheer nerve of him thinking he could pick Bilbo up as he pleased, when the hobbit stopped just short of his feet leaving the ground. Dáin remain stooped, but now, at least, he was not bent halfway over. His warm lips were still plying gently at Bilbo’s, the arm wrapped around him now a hand trailing up his side, resting softly at his cheek where he stroked a calloused thumb over Bilbo’s temple in a way that made him want to shiver. Their bodies were pressed scandalously (and quite comfortably) close, but Dáin behaved like a gentledwarf otherwise.

A skilled one, at at any rate.

 

* * *

 

“Mother! Make him see reason!”

Dis scowled at her son, tired of the argument already. “There is only one person in this mountain that can do that, and we’ve all been banned from bringing this issue up in his presence.”

Kili growled and flung himself into a chair in front of his uncle’s desk. “You can’t send Fili, he’s the heir. You can’t send Dwalin, he’s in the middle of a courtship and he’s your personal guard. Bofur and Bifur can’t be spared, Gloin and Bombur _won’t_ be parted from their wives again, who else would you send? I am a seasoned warrior, I have proven myself on the quest and in battle, and I have been an able diplomat going on seven months now!”

“Precisely. We are already losing Bilbo for most of the year. Your mother will require an escort to and from Mirkwood, and as you have insisted on endearing yourselves to… _them_ ,” Thorin ground out, exercising every ounce of self control not to use a pejorative term when speaking of the elves, “your presence there is of the utmost importance now more than ever. If we are to have any hope of maintaining a civil relationship with those… _people_ -”

At this, Dis finally stepped in. “Are you saying that I am unable to perform this task on my own merit? You _are_ the one who so thoughtfully volunteered me for it, and now you say you have no faith in my capabilities? I, who raised your heirs, co-ruled Ered Luin with you _and_ by myself while you were off romancing hobbits and prancing around Middle Earth-”

That was Kili’s cue to flee. Once he was out of hearing range, he walked cheerfully down to the barracks where he knew Tauriel, Legolas and Gimli would be waiting for him.

Tauriel noticed his arrival first, greeting him with a smile. Legolas was very much engaged with Gimli in what appeared to be a competition of acrobatics. The elf was standing (on his hands no less) atop an unstable pile of old weaponry, armor, and great blocks of broken granite. It appeared as though they had gathered every spare, useless thing lying around and made a tower out of it. It reminded Kili of the dwarflings playing with the toy blocks Bifur had made for them.

Gimli’s expression was sour. “Right, right, ye’ve proved yer point, ye little woodland pixie. Get down and show me how well you can throw an axe.”

With all the nimble grace Kili had come to expect from elves, Legolas pushed himself off the pile into a flip and landed perfectly, the precarious tower of rubble not even stirring.

“How did you fair?” the elf prince asked when he noticed Kili had returned.

Kili smiled smugly. “I managed to get them fighting with each other, so I expect a good outcome. Uncle never wins a fight with mum.”

“Do ye think ye could convince her to order my da to let me go next, then?” Gimli groused. “At this rate I’ll be stuck in this mountain until… well, forever, actually.”

Tauriel patted Gimli’s shoulder consolingly. In that kind but dignified and somber voice, she said, “King Thranduil did not allow Legoas to leave the palace unattended until he was 712 years old.”

Gimli’s eyebrows couldn’t have climbed higher. Legolas was less than pleased with Tauriel’s candidness.

“And I thought dwarves were protective of their children,” Kili grinned.

Legolas’ expression was imperious, and reminded the dwarf prince strongly of King Thranduil.

“KILI!” came the deafening roar of his uncle. The king was stalking towards his nephew with all the grim fervor of a dwarf going to battle.

Kili gulped and waved his hand at his friends, encouraging them to make themselves busy as far away as possible.

Stubbornly, and with no small amount of trepidation, the youngest prince stood his ground and did not flinch when his uncle stood before him, seething.

“If, and _only_ if Bilbo finds it agreeable, you _will_ accompany him to the Shire and back. You will represent the line of Durin and the dwarves of Erebor, and I expect your behavior will reflect that. You will make sure _they_ do not cause any delays or mishaps. Is that understood?”

Kili nodded solemnly. “Of course, Uncle.”

Thorin spared an unhappy glance in Legolas’ direction. Lowering his voice, Thorin added, “I trust by now that your bond of... “ Thorin’s lip curled, “ _friendship_ with them is as sincere as such a bond can be with an elf. I am weary, regardless. He is the son of the-”

“I _know_ who he is, but it seems you have forgotten,” Kili shot back. “He is the one who aided you in battle against Azog by saving your life and returning Orcrist to you. He prevented my beloved brother’s death. He aided us after the battle by working tirelessly in the healer’s tents, _with_ his father. The only person to whom I owe more is Uncle Bilbo. I would _never_ let any harm come to him,” he insisted firmly.

Thorin deflated just a little at this, throwing Legolas another sour glance. “It is as you say.”

Kili expected him to continue, but he did not.

“Well, then… good. Yes. I will not let you down, Uncle. With Gimli by my side-”

“What-”

“-Uncle Bilbo will have nothing to fear. A company of two dwarves, two elves and a hobbit!”

Kili turned and hollered, “He’s agreed! We’re all going to the Shire!”

“KILI.”

 

 

* * *

 

They were now two weeks into Solmath, and the mountain was a flurry of activity again. The work in the forges had been completed, and five of the seven existing mines were open for production. There were not yet enough dwarves to work them, which made anticipation for the arrival of the next caravan that much greater.

In the midst of it all, Bilbo found himself seated next to Dis on the dais of the throne room. Thorin currently occupied said throne, his silver streaked hair glinting under the dazzle of the recently installed Arkenstone.

With Dis between Thorin and Bilbo, on the hobbit’s other side sat Fili, then Dáin. On the other side of the throne sat Dori, Nori and Balin. Kili was currently in Dale, and would later rue his absence very much.

At the bottom of the steps, Dwalin and Ori stood together, their hands clasped. They’d just finished their traditional oaths in Khuzdul. Dis had whispered the translation into his ear as they each recited their portion. Then, with a gentleness that belied the great warrior son of Fundin, Dwalin put the courtship braid in Ori’s hair. When he was done, he kneeled before Ori to give him the height he needed to complete his. Beaming, the Master Scribe placed his own courtship braid in Dwalin’s hair.

When they had finished, backs were thumped and heads were bumped, and there was a general air of celebration that followed them to the dinner the company held in their honor.

Dori spoke loudly of being pleased that the line of Durin had deigned to attend, providing the throne room as the setting for the milestone. It was only right, after all, and was not cause for being unduly impressed. Though Bilbo was sure that if Ori didn’t put the story down into legend, Bilbo would certainly include the tale in one of his own books someday. Dwalin and Ori, the kingsguard and youngest Master Scribe in history, braiding each other’s courtship braids before the Arkenstone and (almost) the entire line of Durin. That a humble little hobbit such as himself had been invited to witness as well was a great honor that touched Bilbo deeply.

It had also been a good chance to finally witness a milestone. Or, rather, at least what one would look like in a normal situation.

No one was more surprised or delighted than Bilbo when Gandalf appeared, tired but in quite the cheerful mood. With very little explanation for his presence, and only vague mentionings of what he had been up to, he drank deeply, smoked a lot, and even managed to enchant hobbit and dwarf alike by drawing the company out to the battlements to view the small fireworks show he’d conjured up. Bilbo couldn’t help but think, then, that wizards had an uncanny knack for arriving precisely when it was perfect for them to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the point in the story-writing process where my instinct to write smutty make out sessions at every possible turn starts kicking in to overdrive. 
> 
> Anyone gettin' anxious? I am. Wonder what's gonna happen.
> 
> Thank you for reading! How's the story going? Tell me the thoughts that you have in your brain. Leave a kudos, if you like. *smooch*
> 
>  
> 
> Source:
> 
> Solmath: 22 January to 20 February  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle-earth_calendar


	9. In Which We All KEEP Learning How Hobbits And Dwarves Are Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tropes, tropes, and more tropes and have I exhausted this topic yet? Maybe a little self-indulgent sexual meta will fit in good here. Ah yes, consume it and hopefully be superficially gratified for a moment or two, my friends. >:D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought this nightmare was over. You were wrong.
> 
> Thanks to Amity for her beta work and encouragement, and anyone else still reading!

“Nnnnh-”

 

“We’re gonna get caught-”

 

“Mmm I don’t care don’t stop-”

 

“I’ve got ye lad, I’ve got ye-”

 

Dwalin supported his considerable bulk with one arm as he leaned over Ori, his free hand gripping the scribe’s hip tightly, trying to pull him closer or push him away, the warrior wasn’t sure. Dwalin moaned his approval when Ori’s fingers tightened their grip on his hair. Hungry lips began trailing open-mouthed kisses down the younger dwarf’s pale neck-

 

“What in Eru’s name are the two of you doing?” Bilbo cried after padding back into his chambers, aghast at the sight of the scandalous scene before him.

 

“Bilbo!” Ori’s muffled, guilt-laced warble sounded from beneath Dwalin, who seemed perfectly nonplussed at being found sprawled atop the youngest Ri brother in Bilbo’s private chambers. On top of his duvet, no less.

 

“ _Ma ikhyij thaiku khama nurt ze' suruj_,” Dwalin muttered surlily.

 

Huffing and rolling his eyes, the King’s guard lumbered off at the insistence of Ori’s jabbing finger, and the young dwarf scrabbled to get up and rearrange his wardrobe. Bilbo sighed and turned around, affording the two the privacy they very well did _not_  deserve. It certainly was _not_  endearing to witness Dwalin being so begrudgingly obedient about it, no matter what he was mumbling in Khuzdul.

 

Ori blurted out the beginnings of an apology. _Birashagami_, Bilbo. I saw him pass by your door not long after you stepped out and you know we _still_  have a difficulty finding any alone time-”

 

“Then by all means, please violate the sanctity of my home so you can get your jollies,” Bilbo complained. “I left you alone for ten minutes, Ori!”

 

“Yer just frustrated you can’t get yer jollies as you’d like ‘em-”

 

“Dwalin!” Ori hissed and there was an audible smack.

 

“If we’re all decent…?” Bilbo blithely ignored Dwalin’s comment.

 

“Of course, of course,” Ori assured him, and Bilbo turned around to give them a stern what-for. But the sight of Dwalin gazing down lovingly at his future husband as he helped him arrange the fastenings of his tunic calmed the hobbit’s temper. He hated being so sodding sentimental sometimes.

 

“You might as well join us if you don’t have more important things to do. But keep your paws off each other, for Eru’s sake.”

 

“Have ye got anymore of those cranberry cookies I could take with me? Nori and I have some new recruits to torture this afternoon. I’m already runnin’ late,” Dwalin asked, still a tad bit breathless and possibly giddy. Bilbo had no guard against big, burly dwarves that asked nicely.

 

“It’s not _my_ fault you’re running late, but take the jar on the mantle and share it with Nori.” He added pointedly, “And make sure to bring the jar back!”

 

He accidentally got an eyeful of Dwalin snogging Ori goodbye. He couldn’t say he’d been behaving any better himself, but at least he had the decency not to do it in someone else’s quarters.

 

Bilbo and Ori were going through a list of all the projects, duties, and tasks the hobbit was currently involved in. They’d been working and reworking this list for weeks by that point, often with Balin’s help, with the goal being to have it reduced to nothing by the beginning of Astron. Bilbo had far too much to prepare to be bothered with any of those tasks during the last weeks before departing.

 

He was also painfully aware that a great deal of effort and resources were being happily directed towards redistributing Bilbo’s workload due simply to the fact that the general population of Erebor would like to see him get on with courting as much as he would.

 

Dwalin had certainly been rubbing off on Ori quite a bit since Dori had found himself occupied with Dáin and Thorin. Obviously some of that rubbing was literal. Ori had begun to playfully hint about all the things he and Dwalin got up to in their private time, and Bilbo, not wanting to discourage his friend’s happiness or make him feel at all ashamed (particularly given how Dori could be about anything _slightly_  risqué), had patiently humored the scribe as he reminisced about and praised his warrior lover. Today was no exception, however, the scribe hadd never turn the conversation from appreciation to inquiry until-

 

“So how’s it going to work with the sex and all?” Ori said, startling Bilbo from his reverie. The young dwarf blinked innocuously and sipped on his tea, paying no mind to Bilbo’s outraged expression. “I’ve been dreadfully curious.”

 

Bilbo cleared his throat and swallowed. “Things... have only just started to straighten themselves out, so to speak. We’ve had to… er… we’ve all had to get on the same page, if you understand me.”

 

Ori’s blank expression told him he did not, and Bilbo took a deep breath and sighed. “I suppose I was just a bit struck about how un-extraordinary this is to everyone. Obviously folks are quite fascinated, but not  _shocked_. It’s happened in the Shire, certainly,” he rambled on, knowing by now that the propriety of hobbits was a complicated thing that didn’t translate well to dwarves. “But it's usually not acknowledged in public. I remember Salvia Bracegirdle and Tanta Gammidge sharing a smial. Tanta never moved out when Salvia and Seredic Clayhanger married. I don’t care what Aunty Donnamira said; hobbits may be fertile, but a brood of 19 between one couple was preposterous, and they weren’t fooling anyone.”

 

Bilbo had thought he’d left gossip behind when he left the Shire, but he’d been wrong; he’d heard all manner of gossip about himself and others since coming to Erebor. As he quietly traversed the mountain throughout the day, it was not out of the ordinary to overhear talk stretching from the petty to the outrageous, the romantic to the obscene. Dwarves did not have a ‘quiet voice’, and Bilbo’s feet didn’t make much noise on stone...

 

Dáin had been right, however. Not once had he heard a snide remark from the dwarves. Thranduil had made it clear that he held Bilbo’s personal tastes and sanity in question, but even then, the elf king assured him that he would personally see to anyone who treated him disgracefully. Not a word about multiple suitors (only that it was multiple  _dwarves_ ).

 

Realizing he hadn’t quite answered Ori’s question, Bilbo went on somewhat impatiently, “It’s only that hobbits are a bit laid back about these things in the, er, bedroom, but in public it’s an entirely different story. Here… it’s all backwards, you see? Hobbits aren’t necessary celibate before marriages, but I didn’t know how it was for dwarves...” he trailed off. Smiling, he said, “I suppose I should have taken my cues from you. I’m not entirely sure we won’t have anymore misunderstandings.”

 

Ori listened to Bilbo’s aimless ranting with a sympathetic expression. “You’d be a fool to expect that you wouldn’t.”

 

“If this were the Shire,” Bilbo insisted, “I’d keep my business to myself, and if anyone was talking it about it, they certainly wouldn’t be doing it to my face. But they’ll want me to choose at the end of all this...”

 

Ori hummed thoughtfully. “There is more than one record from Thrain I’s rule that indicates non-traditional courtships. This is pretty tame by comparison.”

 

Bilbo snorted.

 

“You’re all on the same page then, as far as you know?” Ori pressed.

 

“It was just an important cultural concern that needed clarification,” he insisted, for some reason feeling the need to defend his hesitancy.

 

“Of course,” Ori nodded. “Have you at least kissed either of them yet?”

 

Bilbo wrinkled his nose and tossed a wadded up piece of paper at his friend. “You’re terrible.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the drawback in duties, Bilbo still insisted on overseeing the planting in the desolation. Rethe was turning out to be very mild and the thaw already well underway, which was a mercy for that effort. It took a whole week of working, starting before sunrise and not dragging himself back into the mountain until sunset, but Bilbo felt a deep sense of satisfaction when the task was complete. A new wellspring of excitement came over him when he thought of the healing that would come to this land if only this round of crops was even slightly successful.

 

He found himself trying to explain his excitement to Thorin as they shared a pipe and watched the sun go down from the secret entrance they’d used to first enter the mountain.

 

“Perhaps we shall make agriculture a required area of study,” Thorin mused. “The Agriculture Guild.”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t joke, it’s not a half bad idea.”

 

“I wasn’t joking,” Thorin assured him, passing Bilbo the pipe, purposely letting his thumb caress the outside of Bilbo’s wrist as he did. “You have taught me that true prosperity cannot exist without plentiful earth, though my forebearers never acknowledged it. That is true for a mountain as it is true for the Shire. It is possible that dwarves will farm all the land in the Desolation by the end of Fili’s reign.”

 

Bilbo managed an incredulous look, even with his cheeks puffed out with smoke. To his credit, he didn’t choke on the next several, perfect smoke rings he produced.

 

“I suppose that’s fine,” the hobbit said, “as long as you don’t get any ideas about dwarves living in trees.”

 

Thorin grimaced, though it slowly melted into a winning smile, and Bilbo had to look away, still vulnerable to the adoration in those eyes.

 

Bilbo accepted Thorin’s offer to share his furs (the temperature still dropped to an unacceptably low degree at night, though it was easy to forget this), and the hobbit hid his anticipation as he slid close to the dwarf, allowing himself to be pulled in by a strong arm. They had spent so little time together since that moment in the caves, though Bilbo had certainly noticed Thorin seemed to be touching him more often, even if just casually; a hand gently squeezing his upper arm in greeting or a sliding across his back in passing. It was encouraging and comforting, but mostly exciting.

 

That reliable dwarvish heat chased away the shiver of the night, and Bilbo sighed contentedly, trying not to make a fool of himself by slipping into Thorin’s lap and grabbing fistfulls of the dwarf’s glorious mane and burying his face in it-

 

“I wonder what you would have done had I offered to share my pipe and furs with you that first night in Bag End,” Thorin’s voice was a low rumble, muffled due to the fact that he might have had his own nose buried in Bilbo’s curls.

 

Bilbo did not have to wonder what he would have done. “Something very inappropriate, I’m sure,” he admitted. “Then again, I was a different hobbit back then. Perhaps that is merely what I would say now.”

 

Thorin hummed and nuzzled through thick blond curls to nose at Bilbo’s ear. The hobbit couldn’t help the small shudder that ran through him.

 

The king murmured, hot breath washing over the hobbit’s pointed ear, ”I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave, my burglar.”

 

Bilbo breath quickened as Thorin made a lovely nuisance of himself finding all the ticklish and sensitive areas between the tip of his ear to the crook of his neck. “I daresay you’ll pull yourself together and keep quite bus..sy! Ah ha… with all the things… you do… for… things,” he managed.

 

Bilbo could feel more than hear the chuckle that came from Thorin then. With a great sigh of  what Bilbo fancied was reluctance, the king pulled away, still keeping Bilbo securely wrapped in his cloak, but vastly deprived of the lovely stimulation.

 

“Yes. I shall be quite busy with all the things I do for things. But no amount of that will distract me from the fact that you will not be here when you should be.”

 

Bilbo sniffed, not bothering to argue that most hobbits would disagree that any hobbit should ever be outside the Shire. He knew Thorin was displeased with the arrangement, but accepted that it was happening.

 

“I should come with you, you know,” Thorin suddenly looked down at Bilbo, his blue eyes startlingly earnest. “Abdicate, let Fili or Dáin or Dis have the throne, and follow you to the Shire.”

 

Bilbo was just about to argue when Thorin went on, grinning, “There I shall grow fatter than Bombur on your good food and spend the rest of our days in your smial, doing our best to perturb the good peace, and offend Mrs. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins at every available opportunity.”

 

Bilbo laughed at the merry image this conjured, especially a Thorin so large he toddled and waddled through Bag End. “Oh yes, that will suit us very well. I shudder to think what will happen when you catch Lobelia with spoons falling out of her skirt as she walks out the door.”

 

“Are you implying I am not capable of defending your hole?”

 

Bilbo couldn’t help the long, undignified snort that escaped him, nor the hooting laughter that followed. The look on Thorin’s face was enigmatic, and Bilbo couldn’t tell if the dwarf’s double entendre had gone completely over his own head or not. The hobbit must have been spending too much time in Dwalin’s company himself if he was laughing at accidental gutter language.

 

“Thorin, for the last time, it is a _smial_ ,” Bilbo stressed, chuckling as he tried to recover his composure in front of the dwarf’s who’s confusion was inching toward irritation. “And you should beware of speaking so casually of defending people’s holes. I could just imagine the look on Lobelia’s face if she’d heard!”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes with a sputter and shook his head in mock disappointment, as Bilbo bent over in another peal of laughter at his own terrible joke.

 

“I would expect such humor from my nephews, Master Baggins-”

 

“They were _your_ words!”

 

“-never from a gentlehobbit such as yourself-”

 

“Gentlehobbit my arse.”

 

“-and you persist with that foul mouth-”

 

Bilbo continued teasing until Thorin ended it with a kiss that was as much tongue and lips as it was laughter. The hobbit was too elated to protest when Thorin not only drew him close again, but slid his firm grip up over Bilbo’s knees to hook behind his thighs and tug once, in invitation for Bilbo to complete the slid into his lap. Manners and nerves be damned - Dáin had all but encouraged him to do this and -

 

Thorin’s strong arms wrapped around Bilbo’s trunk while Bilbo hooked his own arms around the dwarf’s neck, briefly squeezing each other to reassure before those large, warm hands began to run along Bilbo’s back and down to his rear, kneading with almost polite pressure as Bilbo broke their kiss with a gasp and definitely not-a-mewl.

 

“Bilbo…” Thorin pleaded, and he _did_  sound wrecked. Bilbo locked eyes with the dwarf as he rested his forehead on the king’s, his mind screaming at him to keep going or get his Valar-forsaken self up and out of there.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Gandalf chuckled as he surveyed the catastrophe that was Bilbo’s apartments. Dis had informed Bilbo that he would have a new residence upon his return, so his current apartments needed to be completely packed when he left. Bilbo managed to do a little bit each day, but the result was an unbearable amount of disorganization and things strewn here and there as they waited to be packed away.

 

While there was a stubborn, self sufficient part of Bilbo that bristled against such personal affairs as his housing being handled entirely outside of his control, he knew that Dis and Dwimla had, in fact, worked quite hard to wrestle control of this project away from Dáin and Thorin directly. They’d not wanted it involved in the courtship at all, and Bilbo half suspected that each member of the company was contributing to the design and construction of his mysterious future home.

 

He didn’t trust any of them at all not to build him some tasteless, misshapen, hodge podge of a mess that they thought might be appropriate for a hobbit (with the exception of Dwimla), but he’d firmly tamped down the Baggins within him, and decided that whatever they built, it would certainly be of trustworthy structural integrity, and he would love and cherish every square inch of it, as he had done Bag End.

 

Gandalf sat gingerly on the only chair not piled high with books and boxes.

 

“My dear fellow, I am impressed once again to wonder what your mother would have to say about all this.”

 

From his bedroom where he was fishing for a particular piece of parchment with a very particular note on it, he said, “She would tell me not to bother returning to Bag End!”

 

Gandalf nodded to himself, amused that Bilbo was probably right. Glancing around, an open box on the mantle caught his eye.

 

When Bilbo returned to his sitting room, he found Gandalf inspecting the contents of the box critically.

 

“Is this from Thorin?” Gandalf asked.

 

Bilbo shook his head.

 

“Lord Dáin, then?”

 

“It was a collaborative effort,” Bilbo informed him, not meeting Gandalf’s eye. He took the intricately carved box from the wizard and considered the set inside.

 

It was a milestone Thorin and Dáin felt strongly about honoring. Personal adornment was an important tradition for dwarrow, and Longbeards in particular valued it to display many things about who a dwarf or dwarrowdam was.

 

On the one hand, Bilbo and gifts didn’t mix well, as everyone knew. On the other, it was a tradition that Dáin and Thorin wanted to honor, and Bilbo would not dishonor them by not accepting it or complaining about it.

 

He had not, however, worn anything in the box since they’d given it to him (and that had been an awkwardly sweet affair, watching them both struggle to decide who should hand it to him and who should speak). They were truly stunning pieces; more valuable than anything he owned, aside from the mithril shirt. A handsome gold choker set with topaz, not unlike some of the things he’d seen other dwarrow wear, though a choker was a bit too provocative for Bilbo’s tastes. There was a finely wrought, delicate, silver ring set with emeralds that’d he’d been very tempted to wear, but it seemed over the top on him without anything else. If he was ever going to consider piercing his ears (and he very much doubted it would ever go beyond consideration), it would be after he returned from the Shire, and that was that, so the sapphire earrings would remain. Then there were the two beads - and those, his suitors had pointed out, had been made individually. He explained the nature of the gift to Gandalf who nodded patiently.

 

“I see courting you together has yielded some unexpected results from those two,” Gandalf observed, the tone of his voice invited Bilbo to comment.

 

Bilbo shrugged. “I don’t know what I expected, but I’m hardly going to complain that they haven’t challenged each other to a fight to the death.” He picked up Thorin’s bead, running his finger fondly over the etchings. A tiny acorn on either side carved from citrine to achieve the color, surrounded by ivy, the leaves of which were tiny emeralds set in silver. Bilbo had been astonished at the level of detail he could see with his naked eye.

 

Dáin admitted he’d sought Hamfast’s expertise in flower language for his bead, for Bilbo had recognized the flower etched on his offering immediately; a jonquil. A fitting choice, given Dáin’s earnest and unabashed desire for Bilbo from the start.

 

“Yes, yes,” Gandalf muttered, obviously halfway present and halfway somewhere Bilbo couldn’t fathom. “I suppose it might do them both some good.”

 

Bilbo wasn’t really sure what Gandalf meant by that, and he didn’t ask.

 

* * *

 

 

“I have witnessed these previously raving maniacs turn to obedient puppies at the twitch of the halfling’s button nose. Forgive me if I do not tremble in fear at the thought that the most powerful figure in Rhovanion might soon be a hobbit.”

 

Bard smiled at Thranduil crookedly. “Button nose?”

 

Gandalf ignored them and blustered on about the foolishness of men and the pride of elves, his dark mutterings ceaseless as they approached the building had become Dale’s focal point of government on foot. Bard had been eager to discuss the progress of the two cities with the wizard, among other things, and to solicit advice on the ins and outs of ruling a kingdom. He had been put off two weeks - the wizard had spent a great deal of time meticulously inspecting the mountain and Ravenhill for reasons that were still unknown. All Gandalf had wanted to talk about was the unfolding love triangle of two dwarves and a hobbit, and the grave implications it could have for their fledgling city.

 

“Why have you not begun work on your palace, Bard?”

 

Bard looked up in time to see Gandalf wave his staff almost resentfully at the building he had chosen to house Dale’s parliament. It had originally been a concert hall at the height of Dale’s prosperity, and offered the appropriate space, location, and infrastructure from whence to govern the city. Or, at least, it was the best option available.

 

Making their way through the guarded entrance, Bard patiently explained his reasoning. “The palace is not a practical building for conducting our government. It is a residence, and should remain that way for the sake of my children’s privacy. I do not want lords and ladies and counsellors crawling all over my home thinking to bribe me or gain my favor. A separate building from which to govern will be more transparent for my people.”

 

Gandalf seemed impressed with Bard’s reasoning. “Whatever you must do to separate yourself from the former Master,” he said, nodding.

 

The king of Dale led them through the busy main halls until people became more scarce and the din nonexistent, to an unassuming door with no guards or anything to indicate it was at all special, except a small sign at the top.

 

Bard was sure it should have a more official name, like the war room, or something along that vein. Tilda had called it “Da’s Think Room” from the beginning, and much to his own consternation, the term had lingered. ‘King Bard’s Think Room’ was, in fact, what was painted sloppily on a bit of old driftwood, fixed lopsidedly over the entrance, in Bain’s poor cursive, which was obviously in need of much improvement..

 

Gandalf nodded approvingly, dropping his scowl for a moment to chuckle merrily.

 

Thranduil gave him an imperious eyebrow, which Bard only returned with a smile and a distinctly unkingly shrug.

 

“Go on then. Let’s see you refuse Tilda anything. Though, you should know, she would be crushed to learn of your disapproval.”

 

Thranduil gave him a severe look. “You will tell her no such thing.”

 

Bard nodded, amused, and Thranduil swept past him, calling for wine and for the discussions to begin.

 

“Come, let us ponder the implications of diplomacy under Prince Consort Bilbo of Erebor, or Lord Bilbo Baggins of the Iron Hills.”

 

Bard laughed heartily at the absurdity of it all, while Gandalf began to lecture them thunderously  on the importance of taking this development seriously.

 

* * *

 

 

“Suits you,” Dáin muttered, reaching up to brush a lock behind Bilbo’s ear. “Both of ‘em,” he added, and Bilbo’s cheeks burned. “I really like what Dis did with this,” he said, running his fingers along the interesting plait.

 

“I look ridiculous,” Bilbo countered self consciously. He now had three braids for three beads. Dis’ bead had found a new home in a small, loose, three-strand plait that she had woven from his temple all the way back to his neck, where the braid continued to fall for another few inches over his shoulder.

 

Dáin had put a plait for his bead behind Bilbo’s right ear, while Thorin essentially replaced Dis’ braid and bead with his own.

 

It meant, too, that Bilbo’s ears drew far more attention than they used to when they were buried underneath his curls. Far from being put off by this, Thorin and Dáin both seemed quite pleased.

 

Bilbo smiled and stretched, feeling just a touch guilty at taking an evening for himself when he knew most everyone in the mountain was pushing themselves to the limit. He had to remind himself that this had been the goal, after all.

 

They were in Dáin’s chambers, which Bilbo was becoming rather acquainted with.

 

Spread out on one of the few luxuries Dáin cared for - a large, brown fur that was splayed before the hearth - several scrolls were spread out between them and glasses of wine placed at a safe distance. Dáin had removed his iron leg some time ago, finding it more comfortable to relax without it in the way. Wearing but a simple cotton tunic (Bilbo was starting to suspect Thorin and Dáin could walk around in rags and still turn heads) and his trousers, he’d had no qualms laying out on his belly next to Bilbo, propped up on his elbows, pointing out different scrolls, sometimes drawing his own sketches to explain something about a bit of architecture or a location in the Iron Hills. Occasionally his bare foot would nudge one of Bilbo’s, causing the hobbit to grin as he continued with his questions.

 

“So hobbits do this in public?” Dáin asked.

 

Bilbo managed not to break down into childish giggles this time.

 

“So to speak. It’s more like an impromptu performance, really. The suitor must choose the right time and place; a large gathering with all the important elder family members present to witness it, which happens a lot more often in the Shire than you’d think.”

 

Dáin tilted his head, contemplating. “So the poor bastard not only has to memorize the complex interlinking of hobbit family lines and recite this, with, as you say, _grace_ and _refinement_ , but he must also have some hobbit-y sense of when the best time will be to randomly do this in public?”

 

Bilbo nodded.

 

Dáin whistled and muttered something in Khuzdul in that rumbly way that sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine.

 

As a nod to his own traditions (though mostly it was due to his own curiosity) Bilbo suggested Thorin and Dáin spend time with him teaching him about their family tree.

 

“Now Frór, my _Irak'Adad,_ my _great_ uncle actually, was slain by a dragon long before I was ever born. He was only 37...  even younger than Frerin was. _Ugmil ’adad_Grór was a tough old coot - took his followers to the Iron Hills after they fled the dragons in the Grey Mountains. You know what happened when me and my _Adad_joined the ranks at Azanulbizar... no need to dwell on that.”

 

“Did you ever know Thrór?” Bilbo asked, his dammed up curiosity getting the better of him. It had seemed callous to inquire about these things with Thorin and Dis, and though Thorin spoke of his immediate family on the road, it wasn’t really discussed otherwise.

 

What had Thrain been like? Thorin’s mother, Des, a dwarrowdam whose name Bilbo had only heard once from Dis - did Thorin remember her fondly? Then there was Dáin; he was a widower, after all, and it hadn’t escaped Bilbo that though Dáin had mentioned his son, he had never discussed his wife outside of that afternoon in the nursery.

 

“I have no memory of Thrór that was not tainted by the sickness,” he admitted with expected solemnity. “He was my great uncle, and my  _Adad_ had plenty of memories about the good days, but I never experienced them myself. Don’t know how Thorin coped; Thrain was so consumed with keeping Thrór’s madness a secret, and he had a kingdom to keep running. Des was just as busy helping to keep the council and courts going normally, though she was as good a mother as she could be. She was good to me, anyway. In his madness, Thrór…” He sighed heavily.

 

“I am eager to listen if… if you need to talk.” Bilbo said carefully. “Eru knows you’ve _more_  than listened to me go on about my family. Though I don’t blame you, you know, if you don’t wish to talk about it,” he finished, not exactly eager to hear the sordid details of a tragic situation, but knowing it was a definitive factor in all of their lives.

 

Dáin smiled warmly at him and pushed the scrolls out of reach. He rolled to prop himself up on his elbow, facing the hobbit.

 

“Aye…”

 

Bilbo knew that tone of voice, and he knew that _look_. And despite knowing he’d have a rather hard time untangling himself before all propriety was lost, he let his lips be captured anyway whilst a large, calloused hand wandered from his shoulder to his neck, sliding up to cup his cheek where Dáin’s thumb ran along soft, blush-stained skin.

 

Before he could get lost in the sensation properly, Dáin pulled back and smiled at him impishly. “Thorin’s been in a good mood lately.”

 

Bilbo blinked several times, bewildered at Dáin’s sudden withdrawal. “What?”

 

“The smug bastard has been grinning at anyone that will look at him all day. I’m just curious to know what new territories I can look forward to explorin… Bilbo?”

 

All the color had quickly drained from Bilbo’s face before suddenly it filled again, a brighter red than what was natural to acquire several hundred feet under stone.

 

“D-did you two discuss this or-” Bilbo cut himself off and pushed himself up to sitting. Dáin followed, now very aware he’d committed some trespass.

 

“Not as such, but the idiot is no’ hard to read. Bilbo, you’re upset-”

 

“Well!” He started, though he stopped again. He opened and closed his mouth several more times before he could think of where to start. Eventually, he blurted out, “What exactly is the point of bringing that up? Of-of speculating gleefully, I might add, about what Thorin and I have been up to? You’re the one who encouraged me -”

 

“Aye, aye!” Dáin held up his hands. “I was. I don’t… Do you think I’m offended by that? Still? I told you, Bilbo, it’s nothing shameful-”

 

“But it isn’t exactly proper to discuss these activities with you, is it?”

 

“Yes. It is proper.”

 

“What?” Bilbo said, utterly bewildered.

 

Dáin sighed. “I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm getting all the leg work in the cultural translation department.”

 

“Well forgive me but Thorin doesn’t ask what I’ve done with you… Oh, well, yes he has... to be fair. Just once, and I had a rather severe reaction then, too!” Bilbo started in defensively again. “And he didn’t seem half so keen to know about it as you are. In fact, he was quite put out to think we’d done anything at all.”

 

Dáin thought back to the scene on the battlements where Thorin accused him of putting hands on Bilbo. Of course, the two cousins had made a tremendous leap in progress in that same encounter. However, Bilbo’s previously mentioned experience with Thorin regarding physical intimacy prior to courtship obviously made a strong impression on Bilbo and set some… unrealistic expectations, apparently.

 

The lord suddenly relaxed and leaned back, reaching for his wine and taking a thoughtful sip. Body language could accomplish a lot in situations where he lacked the proper tongue.

 

Bilbo seemed to deflate then too, though still looking rather put out. And who wouldn’t be? He acknowledged, surrounded as the hobbit was by dwarves throwing confusing signals and doing everything backwards according to his own culture. Dáin wasn’t sure which issue to tackle first.

 

“Let’s say… this cousin Drogo of yours wrote a lovely poem for his Primula, and read it aloud for all to hear. This is acceptable?”

 

Bilbo nodded though not before shooting Dáin a withering look. “Of course.”

 

“In our culture, bragging about our bed practices is common, and considered a compliment if handled correctly, though admittedly a bit of an embarrassment if not. Drogo could have written a bawdy thing about taking his love behind the barn, but more than likely he did not. Thorin was bestowing you high, if not playful, compliment, and he did it without saying a word, so you cannot hold him accountable for the misuse of any inappropriate ones. If this makes you unhappy, either of us will happily oblige you, and never do it again. But I cannot have you believin’ Thorin smeared your reputation-”

 

“Well I’m hardly concerned about reputation at this point, Dáin,” Bilbo snapped. “I’m concerned about treating all parties involved with the respect they deserve." Bilbo sighed but endeavored onward. "When your cultures’ signals of respect are entirely opposite, there is bound to be some confusion! And I still don’t understand if… if… if your willingness to discuss Thorin and mine’s intimate progress is another cultural signal I’m confusing, or just your own particular proclivities.”

 

Dáin turned his head in the opposite direction because he knew he would not be able to stop the spray of wine that came flying, in the most undignified manner possible, out of his mouth as he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

It was the way his hobbit said it, or the indignant frown on his face, or the word choice; it did not matter, as it tickled Dáin down to his very bones, and he could only quiet his laugh when he feared Bilbo’s patience would give out.

 

But the hobbit seemed to go quickly from shocked to comforted at Dáin’s obnoxious reaction, and merely rolled his eyes and shook his head, grinning just slightly as the dwarf caught his breath.

 

“Oh Bilbo,” Dáin breathed and thanked him as the hobbit procured his handkerchief for him to clean up his beard. “Intimate progress, eh? Now we get to it. First, just say that from the beginning. With me, at any rate, your first instinct is probably the right one.” He winked as he tucked Bilbo’s kerchief into his pocket as a keepsake, ignoring Bilbo’s scowl.

 

He continued, “I suppose you could say that, yes. But I’m not an exception. Thorin is much the same, you’ll find, if I remember him correctly in his more… active days. Most dwarves are. It’s a natural part of the conversation. In another scenario, I’d enjoy comparing my lover’s previous experiences to their current ones - it’s natural to want to brag.”

 

“For dwarves,” Bilbo added. “I suppose for me... I fear that it is unfeeling.”

 

“Pah, Thorin and I were on worse terms by the time he thought I’d put my hands on you, and even so, it would be understandably upsetting to think I’d trampled on propriety by taking you to my bed before the courtship arrangements had been established and accepted.”

 

Then Dáin’s eyebrows shot up, another unexpected scenario having just occurred to him. “You’re not sayin’ he’s that bad then? I’d heard differently from rumors and direct accounts of his prowess, and none of them discussed his lacking-”

 

“Dáin what on middle earth are you talking about now? I never said anything of the sort.”

 

“You're not worried Thorin would be hurt or angry by hearing accounts of us? He would only be hurt or angry if I were outpacing him by spades-”

 

“But that’s not true at all, any suitor in his right mind would be furious to know-”

 

“Any _hobbit_  suitor," Dáin reminded him. "Any dwarf suitor in his right mind would take it as his call to action. It’s not about inciting jealousy, Bilbo. It’s about inciting _competition_ , in our particular situation. To return to the original conversation,” Dáin’s gaze sharpened on Bilbo and his voice pitched low as he leaned in, “I want to know exactly what you and my cousin have been up to, so I may know how high I must raise the bar.”

 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. He took a moment to search Dáin’s face.

 

“You’re saying Thorin’s poor reaction back then was because the two of you weren’t getting along, but for some reason you are now. And besides that, he’d have a right to be angry if you had _laid your hands on me_ prior to my accepting your courtship?”

 

Dáin nodded.

 

“I understand now, perplexing and backwards as it all is,” Bilbo said finally, leaning back out of Dáin’s space and reaching for his own neglected glass of wine. He would be running a similar conversation past Thorin, of course, but he was oddly satisfied with this bizarre answer. After taking a long sip, he returned the glass and said, “I suggest, however, a more direct approach as an alternative to what you would otherwise accomplish with bragging. In other words, Master Dwarf, I need not tell you what you wish to know if you would but get over here and _find out for yourself_.”

 

Dáin blinked several times before he leaned in again and grinned. “Aye, I believe we are finally speaking the same language, Master Hobbit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rethe - March
> 
>  
> 
> Still here? Wow! Thanks! Wanna leave a comment? That would be appreciated. Kudos are loved too. The psychic energy produced by the time it takes you to read this chapter is, as always, vampirically leeched in order to sustain me. Thank you all!


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